-. 


JERRY 

A  NOVEL 

BY 

SARAH     BARNWELL    ELLIOTT 


"  In  the  awful  mystery  of  human  life,  it  is  a 
consolation  sometimes  to  believe  that  our  mis- 
takes, perhaps  even  our  sins,  are  permitted  to  be 
instruments  of  our  education  for  immortality.'''1 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY    HOLT  AND    COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1891,  BY 
HENRY  HOLT  &  CO. 

COPYRIGHT,  1890,  1891,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


TO    MY    BROTHER 
R.  HABERSHAM  ELLIOTT,  C.E. 

OF 

BIRMINGHAM,  ALABAMA 


2061722 


PART  FIRST. 

"  '  You  know  very  well  that  every  human  being  has  his  tree  of 
life,  or  his  flower  of  life,  just  as  each  is  arranged.  They  look  like 
other  plants,  but  their  hearts  beat.  Children's  hearts  can  beat 
too.  Think  of  this.  Perhaps  you  may  recognize  the  beating  of 
your  child's  heart. '  And  then  they  went  into  the  great  hot-house 
of  Death,  where  flowers  and  trees  were  growing,  and  marvelously 
intertwined.  There  stood  the  fine  hyacinths  under  glass  bells, 
some  quite  fresh,  others  somewhat  sickly.  There  stood  gallant 
palm-trees,  oaks,  and  plantains,  and  parsley,  and  blooming  thyme. 
Each  tree  and  flower  had  its  name  ;  each  was  a  human  life. 
There  were  great  trees  thrust  into  little  pots,  so  that  they  stood 
quite  crowded,  and  were  nearly  bursting  the  pots  ;  there  was  also 
many  a  little  weakly  flower  in  rich  earth,  with  moss  around  it, 
cared  for  and  tended.  But  the  sorrowful  mother  bent  over  all  the 
smallest  plants,  and  heard  the  human  heart  beating  in  each,  and 
out  of  millions  she  recognized  that  of  her  child. 

"  '  That  is  it ! '  she  cried,  and  stretched  out  her  hands  over  a 
little  crocus  flower,  which  hung  down  quite  sick  and  pale." 


JERRY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Alone,  and  empty-handed  in  this  world 
Where  loves  and  hopes  lie  thick  as  Heaven's  stars." 

HE  sat  in  the  doorway  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
and  his  chin  in  his  dirty  little  hands.  His  yel- 
low face  was  expressionless  almost  ;  and  his  thin, 
straight  lips  looked  as  if  they  could  never  have  smiled 
or  laughed  as  a  child's  lips  should.  A  tired  face  with 
all  the  lines  set  as  in  the  countenance  of  an  old  per- 
son ;  a  stolid  face  that  gave  small  sign  of  heart,  or 
mind,  or  soul. 

Motionless  he  sat  with  the  spring  sun  sending  a 
thousand  flickering  lights  about  him,  and  cutting  his 
shadow  sharp  and  black  on  the  block  of  light  in  the 
doorway. 

Behind  him,  a  clay-daubed  log-house  ;  before  him,  a 
barren,  rain-gullied  yard, — a  broken  rail-fence,  and  a 
few  poor  apple-trees  that  seemed  ashamed  of  the 
meager  blossoms  they  could  show.  A  rickety  grind- 
stone stood  at  the  corner  of  the  house  where  the  mud 
chimney  jutted  out, — an  axe  stuck  in  a  log  near  the 
wood-pile, — one  lean,  straight-tailed  hog  rooted  in 
a  corner  of  the  fence. 

In  all  his  life  the  child  had  never  looked  on  any 
other  scene, — had  never  lost  sight  of  the  smoke  from 
that  poor  chimney.  Now  he  rose  slowly,  pulling  up 
his  ragged  trowsers. 


4  JERR  Y. 

"  I'm  agoin',"  he  said  at  last,  looking  straight  be- 
fore him,  "  it  aint  no  use  ;  I  can't  git  to  see  you  no 
mo',  and  you  telled  me  as  it  wornt  much,  for  you 
wuz  agoin'  to  the  '  Golding  Gates/  not  much  fur," 
and  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he  walked  away 
slowly  down  a  well-worn  path  to  where  a  spring  made 
a  still,  clear  pool  in  the  gray  rocks.  He  paused  here 
a  moment  to  drink  out  of  a  sun-bleached  gourd  that 
lay  on  a  ledge,  then  passed  beyond  to  where  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  fence  there  was  a  grave.  Some  rails  had 
been  laid  about  the  off-side  of  this  grave  ;  but  only  to 
an  insignificant  height  this  extra  fence  had  reached, 
as  if  the  strength  that  built  it  were  not  equal  to  the 
task. 

The  child  stood  and  looked  ;  his  expression  did  not 
change  ;  no  special  feeling  seemed  to  stir  within  him  ; 
but  at  last  the  straight  lips  parted,  and  he  spoke  to 
the  grave  as  he  had  spoken  to  himself  up  at  the 
house.  "  I'm  agoin',  Mammy,"  he  said,  "  it  aint  no 
use  ;  Dad  he  beats  me,  an'  Minervy  Ann  Salter's 
done  come  to  live,  an'  las'  night  her  beat  me  too  ;  it 
aint  no  use.  I  aint  took  much  rails,"  he  went  on, 
"  an'  mebbe  Dad'll  lettum  stay  ;  mebbe  he'll  furgit 
you're  down  here  if  I  kivver  you  good  ;  mebbe  he'll 
furgit,"  and  without  haste  or  excitement  he  climbed 
over  the  outer  fence  to  reach  a  brush-heap  which  was 
there. 

"  I'll  kivver  you  good,"  he  repeated,  and  dropped 
the  brush. piece  by  piece  over  the  fence  on  to  the 
grave ;  then  beyond  he  picked  a  long  branch  of 
blackberry  blossoms. 

Gravely  he  scanned  from  end  to  end  the  blooming 
brier  ;  he  recrossed  the  fence,  and  stood  once  more 
by  the  grave  ;  again  the  sharp  little  voice  broke  the 
stillness.  "  You  wuz  powerful  proud  of  blossoms, 
Mammy,"  he  said,  "  an'  I'll  lay  'em  thar  ;  but  I'm 
agoin'  ;  I  can't  git  to  see  you,  but  dad  can't  nuther, 
can't  beat  you  no  mo*  ;  an'  mebbe,"  nodding  his  head 
slowly,  "  mebbe  he'll  furgit  them  rails." 


JERR  Y.  5 

His  task  was  done,  and  he  stood  slouching  like  an 
old  man  ;  his  shoulders  rounded  forward  ;  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  his  bare  feet  drawn  close  to- 
gether. 

The  poor  grave  had  become  a  brush-heap,  with  the 
long  spray  of  snowy  blossoms  on  the  top  ;  and  the 
stolen  rails  were  covered. 

"  Mebbe  he'll  furgit  them  rails,"  and  he  turned 
away  toward  the  house, 

Straight  up  the  path  to  the  house,  and  in  at  the 
door  ;  there  he  paused  and  looked  about  him.  In 
one  corner  a  bed  ;  in  another  the  pile  of  straw  where 
the  child  slept, — the  broad,  broken  fireplace  where 
stones  served  for  andirons, — the  cracked  dutch-oven, — 
the  frying-pan,  and  battered  coffee-pot, — the  few 
tin  plates  and  cups — the  splint-bottomed  chairs — the 
string  of  red  peppers  over  the  chimney  ;  all  these 
things  that  had  been  always  about  his  little  life,  he 
was  about  to  leave.  He  drew  his  dirty  shirt-sleeve 
across  his  nose,  pausing  in  the  act  as  his  eyes  in  their 
survey  reached  a  dark  corner  of  the  house ;  he 
walked  over  to  the  spot.  A  faded,  blue  homespun 
apron  hung  there  ;  he  eyed  it  gravely,  then  touched  it 
softly. 

"  It's  your'n,  Mammy,"  he  whispered,  "  it  aint  Min- 
ervy  Ann  Sailer's  ;  her  aint  never  so  much  as  teched 
it, — it's  been  a-hangin'  thar  ever  sense  dad  knocked 
youuns  over  ;  dad  aint  agoin'  to  'member  it,"  and 
while  he  spoke  he  drew  himself  up  by  the  uneven  logs 
until  he  reached  the  peg  where  the  apron  hung. 
Once  more  on  the  floor  with  his  prize  in  his  hands,  he 
looked  it  over  with  a  gleam  of  recognition  in  his  eyes 
as  if  every  smirch  upon  it  had  some  association 
for  him  ;  then  rolled  it  up  with  clumsy  carefulness, 
wrapping  some  straw  about  it  to  make  it  fast. 

"  It  aint  Minervy  Ann  Salter's,"  he  said  decisively, 
"  it's  Mammy's,  sure/y,"  and  he  turned  and  left  the 
house. 

A  road  passed  by  the  old  rail-fence,  turning  down 


6  JERR  Y. 

the  hillside  ;  a  rough,  red  clay  road  where  the  winter's 
ruts  had  hardened  into  shape  under  the  spring  sun  ; 
with  here  and  there  a  well-worn  stump  garnishing  its 
ugly  length,  or  the  rounded  shoulder  of  some  mighty 
buried  cliff  making  a  few  smooth  steps.  On  either 
side  the  woods  crept  up  so  close  that  the  roots  of  the 
trees  were  travel-worn,  and  much  bark  was  missing 
from  the  trunks  at  the  usual  height  of  the  wheel-hubs. 
A  lonely,  desolate  road  lying  like  a  long  red  gash  cut 
on  the  face  of  the  world  as  God  had  left  it, — the  only 
mark  that  man  had  made. 

The  child  paused  as  he  climbed  the  fence,  paused 
astride  the  top  rail,  and  hitched  the  strings  that  an- 
swered for  braces  a  little  higher  on  his  shoulders,  then 
turned  the  straw-wrapped  bundle  over  slowly  in  his 
hands. 

"  It  aint  no  use,"  he  repeated  once  again,  as  if  at 
the  last  some  memory  laid  faint  hold  upon  him, 
"  it  aint  no  use,  mammy,"  he  whispered,  "  an'  I've 
done  kivvered  youuns  good, — rale  good,"  almost 
pleadingly,  "  good  as  I  could."  One  moment  more 
he  paused,  then  climbed  down  to  the  rough  road,  and 
turned  away  resolutely  from  all  the  landmarks  of  his 
little  life.  If  he  realized  at  all  the  step  he  was  about 
to  take, — if  he  had  any  fear  of  the  world  or  the  treat- 
ment he  would  meet  with  there, — if  he  felt  any  sorrow 
for  the  ties  he  was  breaking,  he  gave  no  sign  more 
than  the  pause  as  he  crossed  the  fence.  What  had 
roused  him  now  seemed  more  than  he  could  bear,  and 
so  he  went  away. 

The  road  grew  more  and  more  rough  as  it  descend- 
ed the  hills  ;  the  rocks  more  frequent  and  more 
scarred  and  scraped  by  brake-locked  wheels  ;  the 
trees  were  taller  and  bent  in  more  various  directions 
as  they  had  to  find  more  unequal  rootage  among  the 
rocks.  Tall,  shining  poplars  ;  broad-leaved  chest- 
nuts ;  slim,  gaunt  oaks  that  had  no  room  to  spread, 
and  from  tree  to  tree  rank  vines — wild  grapes  and 
briars  that  made  an  impassable  barrier  on  either  side. 


JERRY.  7 

Straight  on  the  child  walked  ;  not  picking  his  way, 
nor  avoiding  rock,  nor  root,  nor  mudhole  ;  straight 
on,  neither  fast  nor  slow,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
nor  to  the  left.  His  little  bundle  close  under  one  arm; 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  ;  his  hat  crammed  well  down 
on  his  head,  so  that  his  colorless  hair,  creeping  through 
a  hole  in  the  crown,  could  scarcely  be  distinguished 
from  the  equally  colorless  felt. 

Down,  down  the  road  wound,  with  sometimes  a 
level  sweep — sometimes  a  slight  rise  that  showed  it 
was  not  taking  the  most  direct  route  toward  the  val- 
ley :  still,  it  made  toward  the  valley  :  the  ruts  deep- 
ening into  gullies, — the  woods  becoming  more  and 
more  dense, — the  rocks  changing  from  yellow  to  a 
pale  gray, — the  clay  shading  to  a  more  sanguinary 
hue  that  prophetically  stained  the  feet  of  the  child  e'er 
the  first  day  of  his  wandering  was  done.  The  noon- 
day sun  looked  straight  down  on  the  rough  road  and 
the  human  mite  that  followed  it,  then  slowly  sank 
down  the  western  sky  :  the  shadows  blackened  in  the 
woods  ;  the  rocks  and  the  stems  of  the  trees  took  on 
weird  shapes  ;  the  wind  rose  and  fell,  dying  far  away 
up  the  hillside. 

The  child  walked  on  :  the  shadows  and  the  gath- 
ering darkness  did  not  seem  to  disturb  him  :  on  be- 
tween the  black  woods,  with  the  narrow  strip  of  sky 
above  him  turning  slowly  from  blue  to  violet,  where 
presently  the  watchful  stars  would  shine  and  flicker 
in  their  places. 

The  road  broadened,  and  a  fence  stood  sharply  de- 
fined against  the  sky  ;  a  section  of  fence  that  seemed 
to  run  along  the  brow  of  a  hill.  . 

The  child  paused,  then  went  on  more  slowly:  where 
was  he,  and  who  lived  here  ? 

Gradually  the  road  rose  until  it  reached  the  fence, 
then  both  dipped  abruptly,  and  before  him,  in  a  little 
basin-like  hollow,  a  light  shone. 

He  stopped  again,  as  if  for  consideration,  then  ap- 
proached cautiously,  over  the  fence  and  through  a 


g  JERR  Y. 

field  where  the  belted  dead  trees  stood  up  like  gaunt 
specters  against  the  sky. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  child  crept,  pausing  every 
few  moments  to  make  observations,  until  he  was  so 
near  that  the  fire,  shining  all  over  the  one  room  of 
the  house,  showed  him  quite  plainly  the  faces  gath- 
ered about  it,  and  striking  out  through  the  open  door 
made  a  broad  path  of  light  across  the  field. 

"  I  aint  never  sawn  them  folks,"  he  said  softly  to 
himself,  "them  aint  never  been  up  our  way."  Again 
he  looked  to  make  quite  sure,  when  suddenly  there 
came  the  sharp  bark  of  a  dog  that  dashed  out  at  him, 
and  a  woman  following  quickly  made  retreat  hopeless. 

"  Who's  thar  !  "  she  called  out  ;  then  to  the  dog, 
"  Hold  yer  mouth,  Buck,  consarn  yer  !  "  and  a  troop 
of  children  coming  to  the  front,  the  boy  was  discov- 
ered. He  stood  quite  still,  a  black  shadow  in  the 
stream  of  light,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, — the  little 
bundle  close  under  one  arm,  and  his  yellow  face,  all 
drawn  and  haggard  from  hunger  and  fatigue,  turned 
up  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the  woman. 

"  Mussy  me  !  "  she  said,  kicking  the  small  dog 
aside,  and  taking  a  snuff-stick  from  her  mouth, 
"  whar's  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  No  whars,"  the  child  answered,  looking  furtively 
in  the  direction  of  the  fence  as  if  bent  on  retreat. 

"  No  whars,"  the  woman  repeated,  setting  her  arms 
akimbo,  and  again  kicking  the  small  dog  over,  "  that's 
a  rale  likely  tale  ;  whar's  youuns'  mar  ?  " 

The  child  paused  a  moment  as  if  thinking,  then 
said  slowly  : 

"I  dunno." 

"Yerdunno?"  raising  her  voice  ;  "I  'How  thet's 
a  peart  look-out  fer  sense  :  well,  where's  youuns' 
par  ? " 

"Over  yon,"  pointing  to  the  hills  that  loomed  above 
them. 

"  Thet's  more  like  now,"  a  little  satisfaction  coming 
into  her  voice  ;  "  an*  whar  mout  you  be  agoin'  ?  " 


JERRY.  9 

"  Over  yon,"  pointing  to  the  west,  where  the  yellow 
light  still  lingered  in  the  far,  day-faithful  horizon. 

"  Thet's  rale  sensible,"  sarcastically  ;  "  I  reckon 
you've  about  telled  all  youuns  knows,  aint  yer  ?  " 

"  I  reckon,"  humbly. 

"  Jest  so  ;  I  reckon  yer  have,  ceppen  youuns'  name  ; 
is  you  got  any  of  thet  ?  " 

"  Jerry." 

"  Jerry,"  the  woman  repeated,  and  looking  him 
over  from  head  to  foot,  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  ; 
not  roughly,  yet  a  shiver  ran  over  the  child's  thin  little 
body,  and  his  tired  eyes  flickered  in  their  upward  look. 

"  Lord-er-mussy,  chile  !  "  and  she  gave  him  a  little 
shake,  "  thar  aint  no  use  a-trimlin'  an'  a-jumpin',  I 
aint  agoin'  to  knock  you  ; — looks  like  you  is  usen  to 
beatin'." 

"  I  is,"  stolidly. 

"  An'  I  'Hows  thet  you  is  runned  away,"  putting 
her  head  on  one  side  with  a  knowing  look,  "  aint 
thet  so  ? " 

There  was  a  pause,  then  a  quick  gasp  as  the  child's 
voice,  grown  suddenly  sharper,  broke  the  silence. 
"  Does  you  know  Minervy  Ann  Salter  ?  "  fearfully. 

"  No." 

A  sigh  of  relief  came  from  the  boy. 

"  Her's  a  great,  big  woman,"  he  said  meditatively, 
"an*  her  knocked  me  deef  an'  bline,  her  did,  an'  I 
runned  away." 

"  Well,  I  never  !  jest  alisten,  Delithy,"  to  a  younger 
woman  who  had  joined  the  group. 

"  I  hearn,"  Delithy  answered,  taking  out  a  piece  of 
straight  comb  that  held  up  the  knot  of  sandy  hair  on 
the  back  of  her  head,  to  comb  it  straight  back  from 
each  side  the  ragged  part,  and  screw  it  up  again,  "  I 
hearn  ;  but  aint  her  no  kin  to  youuns  ?  " 

"  Minervy  Ann  ?  "  the  boy  asked  with  some  scorn, 
"no!" 

Then  inside  the  house  a  baby  began  to  cry,  and  the 
women  turned  simultaneously. 


10  JERRY. 

"  I  reckon  you  kin  come  in,  Jerry,"  the  elder 
woman  said,  and  the  child  followed  her. 

Tired  and  stiff  and  hungry,  the  fire,  and  the  smell 
of  something  that  was  cooking  on  the  hearth,  made 
the  lines  of  the  child's  face  relax,  and  sent  a  gleam  of 
light  into  his  hopeless  eyes.  All  that  long  spring  day 
he  had  walked  without  a  stop  for  rest,  and  nothing 
had  passed  his  lips  since  he  drank  from  the  still  pool 
near  the  brush-heaped  grave.  Now  he  squatted  at 
the  corner  of  the  wide  chimney  and  watched  intently 
the  coarse  corn  bread  that  was  baking  in  a  spider 
over  the  coals. 

"  Youuns  looks  powerful  hungry,"  Delithy  re- 
marked, when  the  baby  being  hushed  and  the  child- 
ren settled  in  a  convenient  staring  distance  of  the 
new-comer,  silence  reigned, — "  how  long  sence  youuns 
had  wittles?" 

"  I  aint  had  a  bite  sence  mornin',' '  not  moving  his 
eyes  from  the  bread. 

"  An'  been  a-runnin'  all  day  ?  " 

"  I  were  feared  to  run,"  he  said,  "  I  were  feared  I'd 
give  out." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you  jest  would." 

"  Kin  I  have  a  leetle  bite  ? "  the  boy  went  on,  point- 
ing to  the  bread,  but  not  moving  his  eyes  from  it ; 
"  I'll  chop  wood  for  it." 

Delithy  moved  her  snuff-stick  thoughtfully  across 
her  big  white  teeth,  eyeing  the  boy  the  while. 

"  An'  I'll  tote  water,"  was  added  by  the  sharp  little 
voice  to  the  pitiful  bargain;  he  was  so  hungry. 

"  Youuns   seem  usen  to  work,"  Delithy  remarked. 

"  I  reckon  I  is,"  thoughtfully,  "  kin  I  have  it  ?  " 

"  It's  Jake's  bread,"  she  answered  slowly,  watching 
the  boy  intently  as  with  a  dull  satisfaction  in  his  long- 
ing that  was  with  her  a  form  of  humor. 

"  Well,  Jake  aint  a-comin'  this  night,"  the  elder 
woman  put  in,  returning  from  where  she  had  deposited 
the  baby  on  the  bed,  "  an'  I  reckon  Louwisy  Dyer  is 
able  to  give  a  bite  of  bread  'thout  tradin' ;  I  'low 


JERRY.  II 

'twont  hurt,  though,  to  tote  a  leetle  water,"  stooping 
over  the  bread.  "  Youuns  is  sure  'bout  it  ? " 

"  I  is,"  and  for  the  first  time  that  day  the  little  bun- 
dle dropped  from  under  the  boy's  arm,  and  both 
hands  were  stretched  out,  "  jest  sure," — then  further 
utterance  was  stopped  by  the  bread. 

"  Fur  all  the  world  like  a  hongry  dorg,"  Delithy 
said,  after  some  thought,  "  I  never  seen  ther  like," 
and  again  she  combed  and  put  in  place  her  sandy 
locks. 

Then  in  a  tin-cup  the  elder  woman  gave  Jerry  some 
cold  coffee,  and  told  him  where  in  the  loft  he  could 
sleep  on  some  fodder. 

And  the  child  crept  away  up  the  ladder,  and 
quickly  fell  asleep  with  his  bundle  safe  inside  of  his 
shirt. 

''  'Cause  it  might  git  lost  in  ther  fodder,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  But  the  child's  sob  in  the  silence  curses  deeper 
Than  the  strong  man  in  his  wrath." 

4  *  ^pH AR'S  Jake  an'  a  man  alonger  him." 

Toiling  up  from  the  spring  with  two  buckets 
of  water,  Jerry  heard  the  words  and  stopped. 

The  midday  meal  was  over,  and  still  Jerry  had  not 
gone  away  from  this  first  resting-place  ;  dinner  and 
breakfast  had  been  added  to  his  obligations  ;  but  it 
was  not  this  so  much  that  held  him,  as  that  he  was 
weary, — weary  of  his  little  life, — weary  from  the 
tramp  of  the  day  before,  and  loath,  moreover,  to  leave 
the  unwonted  kindness  of  these  pitying  women.  And 
now  he  was  bringing  water  for  Delithy's  washing. 
"  A  man  alonger  him,"  the  words  rang  in  his  ears  : 
who  was  it  ?  Fear  made  him  cautious,  and  leaving 
the  buckets  he  crept  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  where 
he  could  see  this  man. 

Across  the  field  between  the  dead  trees,  blackly 
silhouetted  against  the  golden  glory  of  the  western 
sky,  he  saw  them  coming  ;  two  long,  thin,  slouching 
mountaineers,  walking  with  the  uneven  regularity  of 
men  who  followed  the  plow.  He  cowered,  trembled, 
shrank,  with  his  face  bleaching  to  a  deathly  gray;  his 
eyes  grew  wide  and  bright  with  terror, — his  chin 
dropped,  he  seemed  as  one  paralyzed. 

"  Dad  !  "  he  whispered,  then  all  was  still. 

Nearer  they  came  across  the  dreary  field  :  Delithy 
paused  over  her  tub  ;  the  elder  woman  stood  in  the 
doorway ;  the  children  gazed  open-mouthed  ;  and 
through  a  bunch  of  maple  bushes  whose  young  spring 
leaves  glowed  red  in  the  sun-light,  two  glittering, 
fear-charmed  eyes  were  watching. 


JERRY.  13 

Then  Jake's  voice  : 

"  Hardy,  gals,  hardy  ;  I'm  back." 

"  I  reckon  I'se  got  eyes,  Jake  Dyer,"  the  elder  wo- 
man answered,  "  an'  yeers  too,  fur  all  yer  holler  like 
I'm  deef." 

"  Aint  youuns  deef,  Louwisy?"  jocularly,  "don't 
say  ! " 

"  No,  I  aint  deef,"  then  to  the  stranger,  "  good 
evenin'." 

"  Mister  Bill  Wilkerson,"  Jake  went  on,  "  I  makes 
yer  knowed  to  Mis  Louwisy  Dyer,  my  old  woman: 
an*  Mis  Louwisy  Dyer,  I  make  yer  knowed  to  Mister 
Bill  Wilkerson  ;  likewise  Miss  Delithy  Suggs,"  and 
Jake  bowed  with  a  flourish. 

Delithy  nodding,  said,  "  Evenin',"  to  her  new 
acquaintance;  then  she  added  with  calm  and  compla- 
cent certainty  : 

"Youuns  is  drunk,  Jake  Dyer." 

"  No,  I  aint  drunk  nuther,"  Jake  retorted,  but 
with  no  sign  of  anger,  "  an'  Mister  Wilkerson  aint 
drunk  nuther  ;  but  he's  done  lost  hisn's  boy,  he  has." 

The  women  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  children 
looked  at  the  women. 

"  Weuns  went  to  meetin'  yisterday,"  Mr.  Wilken- 
son  began,  "  an'  w'en  weuns  come  home  Jerry,  my 
boy,  he  were  a-missin'  ;  an'  he  must  a  come  this  road, 
fur  t'other  road  'ud  tuck  him  to  meetin'." 

"An"  no  folks  over  thar  sawn  him,"  Jake  put  in, 
"  an'  as  Mister  Wilkerson  were  made  knowed  to  me 
by  Preacher  Dunner,  I  tole  him  to  come  alonger  me 
an'  hunt  fur  thet  boy." 

Still  the  women  did  not  speak,  and  the  children 
gazed  stolidly  in  their  faces,  until  Wilkerson,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other,  said  : 

"  Have  youuns  sawn  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  weuns  have  sawn  him,"  Delithy  answered 
sharply,  returning  vigorously  to  her  washing,  "  he 
tuck  a  bite  here  last  night  ;  but  he's  plum  gone  now, 
he  is." 


14  JERRY. 

"  That's  so,"  Louwisy  added  with  earnestness,  and 
the  children  stared  in  silence. 

"  Well,  thet  jest  beats  me  !  "  Wilkerson  said  slow- 
ly, pushing  his  hat  a  little  further  back  on  his  head, 
"  I  never  hearn  ther  like;  he's  jest  a-spilin'  fur  a  beat- 
in',  Jerry  is." 

"  I  'llowed  from  ther  looks  of  him  as  he  were  a-spil- 
in' fur  whiles,"  and  Delithy,  shaking  the  suds  from 
her  hands,  took  up  a  bucket  and  went  toward  the 
spring,  leaving  her  parting  shot  to  do  what  work  it 
could. 

Only  a  little  way  down  the  steep  path,  then  she 
stopped,  for  on  either  side  stood  two  buckets  full  of 
water. 

"  Pore  creetur  !  "  she  muttered,  looking  about  her 
hastily  as  she  poured   the    water  out,  "  he   couldn't 
tuck  much  mo'beatin',"  and  hiding  the  buckets  in  the- 
bushes,  fearing  that  Wilkerson  might  search,  she  went 
on  her  way. 

Straight  on  through  the  black  night  the  child 
walked  ;  down,  down,  and  the  early  dawn  found  him 
in  the  valley,  with  the  grim,  flat-topped  old  Cumber- 
land mountains  lying  behind  him  like  huge  sleeping 
creatures,  showing  black  against  the  eastern  sky. 
All  night  long  he  walked  ;  from  the  time  when  Jake's 
voice  broke  the  spell  that  held  him  still  behind  the 
maple  bushes. 

He  had  not  paused  for  brake  nor  brier,  until  by  a 
long  detour  he  reached  the  road  ;  then  once  more  he 
had  followed  it  without  deviation,  over  rocks  and 
stumps,  and  unseen  gullies  ;  often  falling  ;  often  his 
terror  had  bidden  him  run,  but  while  never  stopping, 
he  never  ran.  Sore  and  bruised,  and  weak  with  hun- 
ger, he  still  pushed  on,  with  always  the  thought  that 
his  father  might  come  on  him  in  the  darkness  without 
warning  ;  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the  growing  day  he 
had  looked  back  to  the  lessening  hills,  while  the  new 
thought  came  to  him  : 

"  Dad  mout  git  a  nag  an'  ketch  me  yit !  " 


JERRY.  15 

The  fields  that  had  shown  green  and  fresh  about 
him  as  the  darkness  lifted  ;  the  rail-fences  that  had 
loomed  like  long  rows  of  skeleton  ribs,  jagged  and 
twisting  on  either  side  the  road — endless  fences  that 
seemed  to  wind  and  crawl  for  ever  by  him  as  he 
walked — were  with  him  still  ;  and  still  the  road  lay 
straight  and  red  as  blood  before  him,  until  the  color 
had  grown  into  his  eyes,  staining  wherever  he  looked. 

He  was  afraid,  deadly  afraid  of  stopping  ;  but  at 
last  he  had  been  obliged  to  pause  at  a  house  and  beg 
for  food,  and  in  her  way  the  woman  had  been  kind  to 
him. 

"  Youuns  misewell  stop  an'  rest,"  she  had  said, 
looking  him  over  almost  contemptuously;  "nobody 
ain't  a-runnin'  atter  sicher  splinter  as  you  nohow  ; 
an*  I  'How  'twouldn't  be  no  satisfaxion  a-knockin' 
.you  nuther." 

But  Jerry  had  resisted  with  patient  persistence. 
"  Gimme  in  my  han's,"  he  pleaded,  "an"  I  kin  eat 
while  I'ma-walkin' ;"  then  he  had  added  persuasively, 
"  an'  when  I  gits  a  chence,  I'll  come  back  an'  chop 
youuns'  wood,  I  will." 

The  woman  had  looked  keenly  into  the  wistful  eyes 
before  she  parted  with  the  bread  ;  but  then  she  had 
given  it  all. 

"  I  b'lieve  youuns  is  honest,"  she  had  said,  "  I 
b'lieve  it  sure  ;  but  yer'll  never  git  no  chence 
ceppen  to  lay  down  an'  be  planted  afore  many  days." 

The  child  took  the  bread  with  a  look  of  wonder 
growing  in  his  eyes  that  were  fastened  on  the  wom- 
an's face. 

"  Planted  ?  "  he  had  repeated  slowly  as  to  himself, 
"  planted  !  "  and  he  had  turned  away  without  another 
word  ;  had  walked  slowly  but  steadily  down  the  long 
red  road,  and  as  he  munched  the  hard  corn-bread 
had  said  over  and  over  again  to  himself,  "  Planted — 
planted." 

This  had  been  hours  ago  in  the  early  morning,  and 
now  in  the  noonday  brightness  the  child,  still  plod- 


1 6  JERRY. 

ding  on  his  way,  had  but  the  one  thought — "  Thet's 
what  Dad  done  to  youuns.  Mammy  ;  you  said  yer 
were  agoin'  over  yander  to  ther  '  Golding  Gates,'  not 
much  fur,  you  said  ;  an'  thet's  what  Dad  done, 
he  planted  youuns  so  yer  couldn't  go."  On  and  on 
through  the  gathering  heat  he  walked,  with  this  one 
thought  repeating  itself  over  and  over  again  in  his 
mind, — "  thet's  what  Dad  done," — at  last  it  was  too 
strong  for  him,  and  he  stopped  in  his  going  ;  for  a 
new  fact  had  come  home  to  him.  He  stood  quite 
still  for  a  moment  while  his  little  face  blanched,  and 
a  look  of  longing — untold,  bitter  longing,  came  into 
his  eyes  as  he  turned  them  to  the  fading  hills. 

"  An'  I  hepped  'im  !  "  he  cried  aloud  to  the  empty 
fields  and  sky, — "  I  hepped  'im,  I  piled  ther  bresh  thar! 
Oh,  Mammy,  I  never  knowed — I  never  knowed  ! " 
and  down  on  the  hard  red  road  he  cast  himself,  sob- 
bing as  if  his  heart  would  break.  And  always  the 
burden  of  his  cry,  "  I  never  knowed,  Mammy,  I  never 
knowed  !  " 

Presently  the  sobs  died  away,  and  lying  there  dull 
with  grief,  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  struck  on  his 
ear.  For  one  second  he  listened  too  terrified  to  move, 
then  sprang  up  :  it  was  a  man  on  horseback,  and 
coming  from  the  direction  of  the  mountains  !  One 
frightened  glance, — one  instant's  blindness,  then 
down  the  road  he  sped  as  fast  as  his  feet  could  carry 
him, — straight  on  and  on  like  a  hunted  animal  fleeing 
for  its  life. 

Would  the  fences  never  end — would  the  road  lie 
between  those  level  fields  forever — was  the  man  coming 
any  faster — would  he  catch  him  ?  A  terrified  look 
over  his  shoulder  :  the  horse  was  trotting  smartly  ; 
there  was  no  hope,  and  a  voice  hailed  him — "  Stop  !  " 

He  tried  so  hard  to  run  a  little  faster,  but  it  was  no 
use,  his  breath  seemed  to  fail,  and  once  more  he  fell 
prone  in  the  dust.  One  moment,  then  the  horse 
stopped  beside  him,  and  a  voice  broke  on  his  ear — 

"  Git  up." 


JERRY.  17 

But  he  could  neither  speak  nor  move,  he  could  not 
even  distinguish  if  it  were  his  father's  voice. 

"  What  ails  yer  ? "  and  he  was  lifted  by  the  arm  after 
a  kindly  fashion,  and  above  him  he  saw  a  rough  old 
face  that  was  unknown  to  him. 

"  What  air  youuns  skeered  about  ?  " 

Jerry's  voice  came  back  to  him  now  with  a  long, 
sobbing  breath. 

"  I  were  feared,"  he  faltered,  "  feared  youuns'd 
ketch  me." 

"  An'  I  have"  the  old  man  answered  simply,  "  but 
I  aint  agoin*  to  hurt  yer :  whar  air  yer  agoin'  to  ?  " 

"  Over  yon,"  pointing  as  always  to  the  west. 

"  Well,  yer'll  never  git  thar  if  yer  try  runnin',"  the 
old  man  went  on  with  clear  common  sense,  "  but  git 
up,  an'  I'll  tote  youuns  a  piece." 

The  child  looked  up  :  the  poor  little  face  was 
smeared  now  with  tears  and  dust  in  addition  to  its 
usual  yellowness,  but  in  the  eyes  was  the  same  wistful 
look  that  had  made  Delithy  put  his  father  off  the 
track  ;  that  had  made  the  woman  feed  him  that  morn- 
ing, and  that  now  made  the  rough  old  countryman 
lift  him  on  the  raw-boned  horse  that  waited  so  patiently 
for  his  double  load. 

"  Tuck  a  good  grip,"  the  old  man  said  kindly,  as  he 
settled  himself  in  the  saddle,  "  youuns  kin  hold  on 
good,  I'm  solid  ;  but  you  looks  powerful  weakly  an' 
small  to  be  so  fur  off  ?  "  he  went  on  interrogatively, 
"  you're  about  five  miles  from  any whars  :  what  mout 
be  youuns'  name  ?  " 

"  Jerry,"  the  child  answered  from  where  he  leaned 
against  the  broad  back  of  the  brown  jeans  coat. 

"  Jeremiah,  I  reckon,"  the  old  man  went  on  in  a 
superior  tone. 

"  Mammy  usen  to  call  me  '  Miah,'  "  came  with  a 
little  catch  in  the  voice,  "butl'se  mostly  called  Jerry." 

"  Jest  so,  but  it  Stan's  to  reason  as  youuns'  name  is 
Jeremiah  :  now  what  mout  be  ther  balance  of  youuns' 
name  ?  "  in  a  still  more  persuasive  voice. 


1 8  JERRY. 

"  Does  you  know  Minervy  Ann  Salter  ?  "  came  ir- 
relevantly from  the  child. 

"  I  can't  say  as  I  rickerlec'  any  sicher  name,"  was 
answered. 

"  Well,  my  name  is  Wilkerson,  sense  you  dunno 
Minervy  Ann." 

"  Jeremiah  Wilkerson,"  the  old  man  repeated,  "  is 
thar  any  mo'  to  it?  " 

"  I  dunno  rightly,"  Jerry  answered,  "  but  Dad 
'llowed  thar  were  a  P.  in  it  som'ers." 

"A  P. ;  well,  I  reckon  it  were  Jeremiah  P.  Wilker- 
son ;  thet  sounds  right  peart." 

"  It  do  so,"  and  the  little  voice  had  a  ring  of  pride 
and  pleasure  in  it,  "  I  reckon  thet  were  it,  Jeremiah 
P.  Wilkerson,  it  soun's  rayly  purty." 

"  An'  youuns'  par,  what  were  hisn's  name?"  the  old 
man  went  on,  pleased  with  his  success,  his  husky  voice 
jolting  out  in  time  to  the  jog-trot  of  the  horse. 

"  Bill,"  and  at  the  awful  name  the  child  gave  a 
frightened  look  behind  ;  "  can't  weuns  git  on  a  leetle 
faster  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously,  "  I'm  feared." 

"  Feared  ? "  his  new  friend  repeated,  pulling  the 
horse  to  a  sudden  stop,  "  thet's  cur'us  sure  !  " 

"  I'm  feared  of  Dad,"  Jerry  explained  hastily,  "  I'm 
feared  he'll  git  me  agin  ;  an'  if  youuns  ain't  agoin'  no 
further,  I'll  'light  an'  walk,"  trying  to  look  round  the 
broad  back  that  obscured  his  view  of  everything. 

The  man  thought  a  moment  in  silence,  then  again 
urged  his  beast  into  the  slow  trot  that  seemed  its  nor- 
mal pace. 

"  I'm  agoin'  further,  Jeremiah,  an'  I'll  have  a  leetle 
talkin'  alonger  youuns,"  was  answered  meditatively, 
then  with  much  condescension — "  I'm  a  preacher, 
Jeremiah  ;  I'm  Preacher  Babbit,  I  am,"  pausing  that 
this  announcement  might  have  full  effect ;  "  an'  I'll 
not  be  far  from  ther  mark  if  I  say  you  is  a-runnin' 
away  ;  now  aint  yer  ?  "  pausing,  "  aint  you  a-runnin' 
off  from  youuns'  dear 'par,  William  Wilkerson,  an' 
youuns'  pore  mar  ;  aint  yer  ?  " 


JERRY.  19 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  this  unexpected 
attack  ;  then  with  a  new  hard  tone  in  his  voice  the 
child  answered : 

"  Mammy  ain't  thar  no  mo",  an*  Minervy  Ann  Sail- 
er's done  come  thar  to  live,  an'  her  knocked  me  deef 
an'  bline,  an'  I  runned  away." 

"  I  reckon  youuns'  par  done  married  agin,  Jere- 
miah; ain't  thet  so  ?  "  coaxingly. 

"  I  dunno,"  came  sullenly,  "  but  I  hates  'em,  I  do." 

"  No,  Jeremiah,"  and  Preacher  Babbit  cleared  his 
throat,  and  stroked  the  fringe  of  beard  under  his  chin 
in  a  way  that  would  have  shown  a  less  ignorant  person 
than  Jerry  that  a  lecture  was  coming — "  ther  Holy 
Scripter  says  as  leetle  boys  mustn't  hate  their  pars," 
he  began  slowly,  "  an'  you  mustn't  nuther  ;  thar's 
nothin'  good  as  comes  of  leetle  boys  hatin'  their  pars, 
an'  you  mustn't  do  it,  Jeremiah.  Now,  I'm  agoin' 
to  hold  a  meetin'  down  these  ways  to-morrer,  an' 
mebbe  youuns  dear  par'll  come,  and  he'll  furgive 
you,  an'  tuck  you  home  again  :  ther  par  in  ther 
Testyment  did  :  now,  Jeremiah,  jest  think  of  thet  !  " 
and  Preacher  Babbit  made  a  well-meant  effort 
to  turn  his  face  over  his  fat  shoulder  so  as  to 
bestow  a  look  of  encouragement  on  his  little  com- 
panion. 

But  Jerry  had  no  thought  for  him,  instead  was  look- 
ing eagerly  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other. 
They  had  come  a  long  distance  in  the  slow  jog-trot, 
and  now  were  in  the  woods  again,  with  the  evening 
closing  in  on  them.  Everything  was  in  Jerry's  favor, 
and  in  an  instant  he  had  slipped  off  the  horse's  tail, 
and  lay  sprawling  in  the  road  ;  but  only  for  a  second 
he  lay  there,  then  was  up  and  off,  speeding  blindly 
through  the  thick  woods.  In  vain  the  worthy  preacher 
called  ;  the  child  would  not  hear  :  a  dreadful  sugges- 
tion had  been  made  to  him  ;  a  prayer-meeting  was  to 
held,  and  his  father  might  be  there.  No  thought  of 
distance  came  to  reassure  him  ;  no  thought  at  all  was 
with  him,  only  the  dread  conviction  that  his  father 


20  JERRY. 

would  be  at  the  meeting  ;  for  his  father  always  went 
to  meetings. 

No  persuasions  could  call  him  back  to  that  dread- 
ful possibility.  He  fled  until  the  old  man's  voice  faded 
from  his  hearing,  then  he  sat  down  to  rest  ;  but  not 
for  long,  and  through  the  night  he  wandered  as  he 
had  done  the  night  before.  Once  he  lay  down,  but 
in  the  stillness  his  terror  increased,  and  with  it  the 
dull  pain  that  had  been  with  him  ever  since  the 
woman's  unconsciously  cruel  words  had  forced  their 
way  into  his  mind,  and  with  them  the  pitiful  conviction 
that  he  had  aided  his  father  in  the  deed  that  had  shut 
his  only  friend  away  from  him.  Living  in  the  heart 
of  the  Cumberland  Mountains,  whose  heights  he  had 
never  before  left,  his  ignorance  was  dense,  and  to  him 
things  were  strangely  mingled  and  perverted.  The 
thought  that  he  might  go  back  and  pull  away  the  brush 
he  had  piled  over  his  mother,  and  so  undo  his  share 
in  the  work  that  had  imprisoned  her,  had  not  yet  oc- 
curred to  him.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  thinking, 
and,  until  lately,  little  accustomed  to  feeling  anything 
save  hunger,  and  cold,  and  blows.  But  now  a  great 
awakening  was  on  him  ;  a  great  loneliness  held  him  ; 
a  great  loneliness  that  had  been  with  him  ever  since 
the  one  soul  that  loved  him  had  been  put  away  from 
him  in  a  mysterious  manner  that  he. had  not  under- 
stood until  now  ;  and  now  the  awful  conviction  was 
with  him  that  he  had  helped  to  shut  his  mother  up  in 
the  earth. 

So  he  could  not  stop  to  rest,  for  he  would  begin  to 
cry  again,  and  crying  made  him  feel  so  sick  and  weak. 
Very,  very  tired  he  was  when  at  last  the  day  dawned, 
and  he  found  himself  in  a  long,  straight  clearing  that 
extended  as  far  as  he  could  see  :  a  clearing  like  a 
roadway,  only  up  and  down  the  center  were  beams  of 
wood,  and  across  them  long  shining  pieces  of  iron. 
He  stopped  and  looked  at  it ;  it  must  be  some  kind 
of  road  ;  but  a  new  kind  he  had  never  before  seen. 

He  climbed  the  slight  embankment  on  which  it  was, 


JERRY.  21 

and  stood  looking  wonderingly  up  and  down  ;  then 
with  his  back  to  the  rising  sun,  he  followed  slowly 
this  new  kind  of  road.  He  was  weak  and  tired,  and 
the  stepping  from  beam  to  beam  confused  him  so 
much,  that  it  took  all  his  attention  to  step  just  the  right 
distance,  and  not  to  fall.  Carefully  he  made  his  way 
until  something  caused  him  to  look  up,  when  he  found 
himself  in  a  straggling  line  of  small  houses. 

He  paused  and  turned  about,  for  the  moment  for- 
getting all  his  ills  in  the  wonder  called  forth. 

"  Lotser  folks  must  live  here,"  he  muttered,  "  an'  I 
knows  dad  aint  never  seen  it,  'cause  I  aint  never 
hearn  him  tell  nuthin'  'bout  it,  I  never  did  sure  !  " 
and  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  he  stood  regarding 
the  houses  about  him.  Presently  .he  saw  a  curl  of 
smoke  come  from  a  chimney,  and  watched  a  woman 
as  she  slowly  opened  a  door,  then  a  window  ;  then  he 
went  nearer,  for  he  was  too  hungry  to  pause  for  con- 
sideration. 

Slowly  he  approached  the  house  that  he  had  just 
seen  opened,  and  leaning  against  the  open  door  said 
stolidly  : 

"  I'm  honggry." 

The  woman  turned  quickly,  and  her  eyes  opened 
wide  as  they  rested  on  the  ragged,  starved  specimen 
of  humanity  confronting  her. 

"  Mussy,  but  you're  a  rough  'un  !  "  she  said,  scan- 
ning Jerry  without  seeming  to  heed  his  words  until  he 
repeated  slowly  : 

"  I'm  honggry,  gimme  a  bite  of  sumpen  ?  " 

"  Most  folks  works  fur  their  wittles,"  was  the  un- 
gracious reply. 

"  I  kin  work  too,"  the  child  persisted,  "  but  I'm  plum 
wore  out  now,  I  is,"  and  he  sat  down  slowly  on  the 
step.  The  widow  Perkins  paused  before  further  words 
of  harshness  to  watch  the  child's  movements,  which 
had  been  made  assured  by  the  kindly  treatment  he 
had  met  with  in  his  wanderings  through  the  unopened 
regions  from  which  he  had  come  :  and  while  she 


22  JERRY. 

watched,  the  thought  came  to  her,  suppose  he  was  one 
of  a  gang  of  tramps  sent  ahead  to  "  spy  out  the  land," 
— suppose  if  she  refused  him  what  he  asked,  he  should 
bring  the  whole  company  down  on  her,  a  lone  widow  ! 
She  had  read  of  such  things  in  the  papers.  And  she 
stared  at  the  child  with  a  growing  anxiety  in  her  eyes 
as  she  asked  quickly  : 

"  Will  you  git  away  if  I  give  you  some  wittles  ? " 

Jerry  looked  up  slowly. 

"  Don't  you  warnt  me  to  tote  no  water  for  youuns 
when  I  gits  rested  ? "  he  asked  innocently. 

The  woman's  silly  fears  having  once  taken  hold  of 
her,  grew  with  every  word  the  child  uttered  :  he  was 
surely  a  "  spyer,"  and  she  must  persuade  him  to  go 
away. 

"  You're  too  little,"  she  said  kindly,  "  I  couldn't 
abear  to  see  you  workin'." 

Jerry  listened  in  wonder  :  yesterday  a  woman  had 
fed  him  ;  but  she  had  expected  him  to  work  for  her 
in  the  future,  so  he  thought ;  but  this  woman  was  a 
new  experience,  and  would  not  let  him  work  at  all. 

"  Here's  bread  an'  meat,  child,  an'  some  good  hot 
coffee,"  she  went  on,  handing  him  a  plate  and  cup, 
"  an'  when  you're  through,  I'll  give  you  more  to  take 
along."  Jerry  looked  up  at  her  with  his  wistful  eyes 
full  of  wonder  ;  but  he  had  no  words.  His  life  had 
been  one  strictly  of  command  and  obedience,  and  he 
had  no  vocabulary  of  thanks.  He  listened  without 
comment  to  the  kind  words  that  came  from  the  wom- 
an's lips  as  he  ate  and  drank,  and  when  he  had  fin- 
ished took  in  silence  the  fresh  supply  of  food  that  was 
given  him  wrapped  in  a  greasy  paper. 

It  was  very  strange,  this  kindness,  and  emboldened 
him,  and  he  laid  his  dirty  little  hand  on  the  woman's 
frock  as  she  stood  near  him. 

"  Kin  I  lay  down  awhile  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Lord,  honey,"  and  the  woman's  voice  was  actually 
tremulous  from  uneasiness,,  "  I  aint  got  any  place 
fitten  to  sleep  in,"  going  on  more  hastily  as  if  to  cover 


JERRY.  23 

the  clumsy  lie,  "  but  if  you'll  go  'long  the  track  apiece, 
there's  a  car  of  straw  where  you  kin  rest  jest  as  easy, 
now  you  go  'long  an'  try  it,"  and  she  walked  out  of 
the  house  in  her  anxiety  to  point  him  in  the  right 
direction. 

But  Jerry's  ignorance  foiled  her  :  he  did  not  know 
what  a  car  was,  so  could  not  understard  her  words 
nor  her  actions,  except  that  she  wanted  him  to  go  on, 
and  he  was  too  tired  ;  he  listened  patiently,  however, 
until  she  paused  to  see  the  effects  of  her  advice, — 
then — 

"  I  wanter  drink  of  water,"  was  all  that  came 
slowly  from  the  child's  almost  colorless  lips  ;  and  the 
woman's  heart  sank.  Was,  this  stupidity,  or  was  it 
cunning  to  make  time  until  the  rest  of  the  party 
should  come  up  ?  Whatever  it  was,  she  answered 
amiably,  though  with  more  haste, — 

"  Yes,  honey,  jest  you  wait,  an'  I'll  git  you  some," 
and  she  hurried  into  the  house. 

Jerry  waited  ;  he  could  not  understand  this  person, 
but  she  gave  him  what  he  most  needed,  and  he  was 
content  to  obey  her.  Presently  she  returned,  looking 
anxiously  up  and  down  the  road,  and  in  her  hands  a 
tin  dipper  full  of  water,  and  a  black  bottle  tightly 
corked. 

"  Drink  this,  honey,"  handing  him  the  dipper,  "an* 
here's  some  more  in  the  bottle  ;  'twon't  be  much  load 
to  carry,"  encouragingly,  "  an'  I'll  take  you  to  the  car 
myself ;  none  of  the  neighbors  is  up  yet,"  glancing 
keenly  at  the  nearest  houses,  "  an'  nobody  '11  see  you  git 
in  the  car,"  and  as  she  talked  she  walked  quickly  down 
the  railway  to  where  on  a  side-track  a  box-car  was 
being  loaded  with  loose  hay.  Left  unlocked  at  this 
little  country  station,  there  was  no  difficulty  in  pushing 
the  doors  far  enough  apart  for  Jerry  to  creep  in  ; 
then  the  woman  handed  in  the  bottle  of  water  and 
package  of  food,  and  pulled  the  doors  close  as  she 
had  found  them.  One  anxious  look  about  to  see  if 
she  were  observed,  as  well  as  to  see  if  the  tramps  she 


24  JERR  y. 

feared  were  at  hand,  then  this  sagacious  woman 
returned  to  her  house  congratulating  herself  on  her 
shrewdness.  The  hay  was  fragrant  and  soft,  and  Jerry, 
not  at  all  comprehending  why  he  was  there,  but 
perfectly  contented  with  his  quarters,  waded  and 
clambered  to  a  far  corner,  where,  putting  safely  to  one 
side  his  food  and  bottle,  he  made  for  himself  a  little 
nest,  and  curling  up  was  soon  in  a  dreamless  sleep. 

Securely  hidden  from  all  the  world,  his  immediate 
wants  provided  for,  the  sleep  that  came  to  him  was 
almost  the  sleep  of  death.  So  through  all  the  noise 
and  bustle  of  the  approaching  train  ;  through  the 
new  unknown  motion  to  which  he  was  shortly  sub- 
jected, he  slept  ;  and  not  until  far  into  the  day  did  he 
rouse  from  the  lethargy  that  had  overpowered  him. 

Slowly  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  about  him  : 
there  was  the  loosely  packed  hay  shivering  from  base 
to  apex — his  bottle  and  bread  jolting  straight  up  and 
down,  and  his  own  sensations  beyond  any  words  of 
his  to  describe. 

He  was  terrified  ;  he  called  aloud  ;  he  tried  to 
stand,  then  gladly  sank  again  into  the  hay.  What 
was  the  matter — such  noise — such  furious  motion  ? 
He  was  now  afraid  to  move,  and  for  a  long  time  lay 
quite  still,  but  at  last  hunger  overcame  him,  and  he 
opened  his  bundle.  There  was  the  bread  the  woman 
had  given  him,  and  the  meat  he  had  regarded  with 
such  satisfaction  ;  he  touched  it,  as  if  under  the 
strange  circumstances  he  doubted  his  senses ;  but  it 
was  as  real  as  it  looked  ;  he  tasted  it,  then  ate  heartily, 
putting  away  the  fragments  carefully, — a  lesson  he 
had  learned  as  a  dog  learns  to  hide  a  bone.  He  felt 
better  after  this,  and  drinking  some  water  from  his 
bottle  resumed  his  place  Thoughtfully  he  regarded 
the  roof  of  the  car,  then  pulled  more  hay  down  about 
him. 

"When  it  gits  through  runnin'  away  and  busts,"  he 
muttered,  "  I  misewell  fall  soff,"  and  burying  himself 
still  more  deeply,  once  more  forgot  all  things  in  sleep. 


JERRY.  25 

On  through  miles  of  level  fields — through  hills  and 
forests,  and  swamps, — away  from  every  thing  and 
soul  he  had  ever  known, —  on  and  on  until  the  sun 
set  and  the  new  moon  rose  thin  and  fair,  looking 
down  on  the  far-off  brush-heaped  grave, — on  slow 
Delithy  telling  for  the  twentieth  time  how  that  she 
had  "  fooled  thet  Wilkerson  man," — upon  the  kindly 
woman  in  the  valley,  wondering  over  his  fate, — upon 
old  Preacher  Babbit  preaching  from  the  "  Prodigal 
son,"  and  using  the  little  waif  to  point  a  moral, — upon 
the  widow  Perkins  still  waiting  for  the  tramps. 

On  hurried  the  battered  old  car  where  the  little  boy 
lay  sleeping.  On  into  a  world  he  had  never  dreamed 
of, — into  a  world  where  he  would  have  to  work,  and 
fight,  and  suffer  more  intricately,  more  bitterly  per- 
haps, and  perchance  with  less  reward  than  if  he  had 
followed  to  its  end  his  life  among  the  lonely  hills. 

On  the  train  rushed  toward  the  west,  while  the 
moon  set,  and  the  night  blackened  :  then  in  the  early 
dawn  a  sudden  stop. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  On  to  days  of  strangest  wonder — 
Was  it  Providence  or  Fate  !  " 

grating,  creaking  doors  were  pushed  back, 
and  the  faces  of  men  appeared  in  the  opening. 
Jerry  looked  out  cautiously  from  his  lair  :  he  was 
afraid,  for  ever  since  the  sudden  stoppage  he  had 
heard  strange  sounds  outside.  Rumblings  as  of  wheels 
over  rocks  ;  strange  cries  and  calls  ;  awful  shrieks 
and  whoops  that  made  him  put  his  fingers  in  his  ears 
and  cower  lower  in  the  hay,  and  above  all  clanging  as 
of  a  hundred  cow-bells  rung  at  once  ! 

Where  was  he, — what  was  it  all  ? 

So  now  when  the  doors  were  rolled  back,  he  peeped 
forth  cautiously  to  make  observations.  The  hay  was 
being  taken  out,  and  he  could  see  the  heads  of  horses ; 
then  beyond  he  saw  men  swarming  in  every  direction; 
and  vehicles  rushing  about,  nor  were  any  of  them  like 
the  vehicles  of  his  mountain  home  ;  and  going  in  and 
out  among  this  crowd  of  men  and  wheels  were  great 
black  things  with  black  smoke  coming  from  them, — 
huge  things,  rolling  back  and  forth  on  the  same  kind 
of  road  he  had  found  down  in  the  woods. 

He  stood  there  looking  out  on  all  this  seeming  con- 
fusion, a  gaunt,  wonder-stricken  specter,  not  heeding 
the  calls  of  the  men  who,  catching  sight  of  him,  had 
for  the  moment  ceased  from  their  work. 

"  Say,  sonny,  is  you  deef  ?  "  and  one  of  the  men, 
springing  into  the  car,  laid  a  hand  on  the  child's  shoul- 
der. Jerry  did  not  start ;  but  looked  up  slowly,  dumb 
with  fear  and  wonder. 

"  Be  jabers,  he's  er  idgit  !  "  said  a  great  Irishman, 
twitching  one  rag-fringed  leg  of  the  boy's  trousers. 

26 


JERRY.  27 

"  Where's  you  come  from  ? "  the  first  man  asked, 
shaking  him  slightly. 

"  I  dunno,"  slowly. 

"  That's  wholesome  ;  where's  you  goin',  then  ?  " 

"I  dunno." 

"  Sure  enough  !  "  laughing,  "  do  you  think  you'll 
have  a  safe  trip  ? "  and  again  came  the  pitiful  answer: 

"  I  dunno." 

"  P'raps  you  can  tell  us  how  you  feel  ?  " 

"  I  feels  feared,  an'  I  feels  honggry,"  looking  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"  Pore  laytle  divil  ;  pitch  'im  oot,  Dick  ;  sure  he's 
had  a  fray  ride, "and  the  big  Irishman  pulled  the  child 
toward  the  door. 

He  did  not  resist,  except  for  the  one  second  he 
paused  to  feel  if  his  little  bundle  was  safe  inside  his 
shirt;  then  he  yielded  himself  to  the  man's  strong 
grasp,  and  was  put  down  in  the  muddy  street. 

"  Git  away,  now,"  but  the  child  did  not  move  :  all 
about  him  was  the  rush  of  a  great  railway  terminus 
bewildering  him  and  terrifying  him  ;  he  did  not  dare 
to  move. 

"  Put  him  on  the  sidewalk,  Pat,  he'll  get  killed  tryin' 
to  cross."  So  the  Irishman  half  lifted,  half  dragged 
the  boy  to  the  pavement,  then  left  him. 

It  was  early,  but  numbers  of  people  were  abroad ; 
work-people  hurrying  with  baskets  to  their  day's  toil, 
and  to  Jerry  crouching  in  a  doorway  not  ten  steps 
from  where  the  man  left  him,  they  flitted  like  figures 
in  a  dream.  He  had  no  thoughts,  he  had  no  words  for 
his  fears  :  he  was  seated  on  something  immovable,  he 
was  leaning  against  something  solid  ;  it  did  not  matter 
that  the  street,  and  people,  and  houses  seemed  for  some 
time  to  sway  and  jolt  as  he  had  been  doing  for  hours  in 
the  car  ;  everything  was  so  strange  that  nothing  could 
surprise  him  any  more  :  not  even  a  big  man  with  shin- 
ing buttons  on  his  coat,  who  pushed  him  with  a  stick 
and  told  him  to  get  up.  He  only  felt  sorry  to  move 
because  he  was  weak  and  hungry  :  other  than  this  he 


28  JERRY. 

had  no  sensations,  and  was  too  dazed  to  ask  any 
questions  when  the  man,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  led 
him  down  the  street. 

He  was  very  weary,  and  was  glad  when  at  last  they 
stopped  in  front  of  what  seemed  to  him  a  hole  in  a  big 
rock.  Inside  a  number  of  people  were  gathered, — 
people  that  looked  sick,  and  ragged,  and  dirty  ;  and 
who  laughed  when  he  dropped  on  a  bench  against  the 
wall.  His  chief  sensation  was  still  weariness,  and  he 
nearly  fell  asleep  in  the  corner  where  he  had  been  put; 
only  rousing  when  after  long  waiting  he  was  led  into 
another  room,  where  he  saw  more  men  with  shining 
buttons,  and  one  sitting  high  up  above  the  others. 

Here  he  was  put  in  a  little  pen  with  a  low  fence  all 
around  it,  and  the  man  who  had  brought  him  said 
something  he  could  not  understand  ;  and  the  man 
seated  high  up  looked  at  him  very  hard,  then  asked 
his  name. 

"  Jerry,"  he  answered,  and  the  familiar  sound 
seemed  to  bring  him  out  of  the  dream  he  was  in  ;  the 
very  twang  of  his  own  voice,  so  different  from  the 
voices  about  him,  made  things  seem  more  real,  and  he 
looked  around  him  more  intelligently. 

"  What  other  name  have  you  ? "  the  man  went  on  : 
there  was  a  pause,  then  the  child  looked  up  asking  : 

"  Does  youuns  know  Minervy  Ann  Salter  ?  "  There 
was  a  smile  even  in  the  well-ordered  police  room,  and 
the  man  answered  : 

"  No." 

"  Well,  then,  my  name  is  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  slowly, 
"  an'  Preacher  Babbit,  he  says  as  he  'Hows  I's  named 
Jeremiah  P.  Wilkerson,"  with  great  stress  on  the  P. 
"  Jeremiah  P.  Wilkerson,"  the  official  repeated,  then 
went  on : 

"  Where  have  you  come  from,  Jeremiah  ?" 

A  puzzled  look  came  over  the  child's  face. 

"  I  dunno,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  but  it's  over  yan- 
der  whar  ther  sun  gits  up  ;  it's  a  fur  way,  an'  power- 
ful lonesome." 


JERRY.  29 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  place  ?  " 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  It  ain't  got  no  name  as  I  knows  on,"  he  said. 

"  How  far  is  it  from  here  ? " 

"  I  dunno." 

"  How  did  you  come  ? " 

Jerry  paused  a  moment  ;  he  could  answer  this,  for 
he  could  recall  with  pain  and  weariness  every  change 
in  his  mode  of  traveling. 

"  I  walked  a  piece,"  he  began  with  slow  literalness, 
"an'  I  runned  a  piece  'cause  I  were  feared;  an'  I 
corned  a  piece  on  Preacher  Babbit's  nag,  an'  I  drapped 
off  'cause  he  were  agoin'  to  sen'  me  back;  an'  I  loped 
a  piece  to  a  cur'us  kinder  road;  an'  a  woman  give  me 
sumpen  to  eat,  an'  shet  me  in  a  box  of  strawer,  an' 
when  I  woked  up  agin/'  looking  up  almost  excitedly, 
"  it  were  a-gittin'  along  ther  all-gracious-beatenest 
kind  er  way!  An'  I  were  feared  agin;  an'  ther  fellers 
tuck  me  out  an'  sot  me  down  in  ther  road  whar  all 
sorter  tricks  was  lopin'  round,  an'  smokin',  an'  hollerin'; 
then  him,"  pointing  to  his  captor,  "  come  an'  got  me, 
an'  brunged  me  here." 

The  sharp  little  voice  ceased;  the  hard  faces  about 
the  room  looked  a  little  softer,  perhaps,  and  the  next 
question  did  not  have  such  a  business-like  ring  to  it : 

"  Why  did  you  leave  your  home  ?" 

The  child's  face  changed,  and  all  his  sorrow  and 
remorse  came  back  to  him  while  he  answered  with  a 
look  of  pitiful  despair  in  his  eyes  : 

"  Mammy  were  gone,  an'  Minervy  Ann  Salter  come 
thar  to  live,  an'  her  knocked  me  deef  an'  bline,  an*  I 
runned  away." 

"  Where  had  your  mother  gone  ?  " 

"  I  dunno." 

There  was  a  pause,  as  if  the  officials  were  non- 
plussed; there  was  no  law  providing  for  a  case  like 
this, — no  refuge  for  such  wanderers  :  he  did  not 
deserve  punishment;  he  was  not  an  orphan:  and  the 
officer  asked: 


3°  JERRY. 

"  Where  are  you  going  when  you  leave  this  place  ? " 

"  Whar  ther  sun  sots,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"  Have  you  friends  there  ?  "  smiling. 

"  Mammy  said  she  were  agoin'  thar,  her  did,  an' 
she  'llowed  'twornt  much  fur  to  ther  '  Golding 
Gates'." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"  San  Francisco?  "  one  hazarded. 

The  child  shook  his  head. 

"  I  dunno;  but  her  p'inted  whar  the  sun  sots,  her 
did,  an'  I'm  agoin'  thar." 

"  Are  you  going  on  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  'llowed  I'd  rest  awhile,"  was  answered  simply. 

"  Where  will  you  rest  ?  " 

"  I  'llowed  youuns  'd  lemme  rest  right  here;  an'  I'm 
honggry,"  looking  up  as  a  dog  might. 

"  Poor  little  creature,"  and  the  chief  officer  put 
some  money  on  the  table,  "  let  '  63  '  take  him  in  the 
yard  and  feed  him;  his  case  shall  be  attended  to 
later," — then  to  the  child,  "  Jeremiah,  you  must  wait 
until  I  see  you  again." 

"  Jest  so,  I'll  wait  sure,"  nodding  reassuringly;  then 
he  followed  "  63  "  out  into  the  dingy  yard.  Here  he 
was  fed,  then  placed  on  a  bench  with  orders  not  to 
move  until  "63"  should  come  back. 

"  Kin  I  lay  down  ?  "  he  asked  wearily. 

"  Yes,  but  don't  you  go  away  from  this  bench;  do 
you  hear  ?" 

"  I  do,"  and  the  child  lay  down  while  the  man  went 
away  with  the  empty  plate  and  cup.  Soundly  he  slept 
until  the  sun  crept  round  the  high  buildings  and  shone 
on  him,  a  poor  ragged  little  mite. 

Two  men  stood  looking  down  on  him  as  he  rested; 
one  his  captor,  policeman  63;  the  other,  the  official 
who  had  provided  food  for  him. 

"  I  have  a  brother  who  runs  a  boat  on  the  river," 
"  63  "  was  saying,  "  I  reckon  he  can  find  him  work 
to  do." 

"  If  your  brother  will  take  him,  it  will  be  better 


JERRY.  31 

than  turning  him  adrift  on  the  street,"  the  officer 
answered,  "  poor  little  devil ;  waken  him." 

So  Jerry  was  roused,  and  once  more  coming  back 
to  the  bewildering  world,  he  looked  about  him  slowly, 
fastening  his  eyes  at  last  on  "  63." 

"  I  aint  got  off  ther  bench  onest,"  he  said,  remem- 
bering the  last  order  given  him. 

"  All  right,"  the  man  answered,  "  but  I  want  you  to 
come  with  me  now." 

"  Whar  ? " 

"  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  my  brother." 

The  child  got  up,  paused  to  feel  for  the  little  bundle 
inside  his  shirt,  then  putting  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets,  he  turned  to  the  officer. 

"  Youuns  aint  a-comin'  ? "  he  said  familiarly,  with 
perfect  unconsciousness  of  the  distance  between  them. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  far'well,"  holding  out  a  dirty  hand  that 
looked  as  small  and  thin  as  a  bird's  claw. 

"  Good-by,"  and  the  officer  shook  the  little  hand 
quite  heartily,  "take  care  of  yourself,  Jeremiah." 

"  All  right,"  then  returning  his  hand  to  his  pocket 
he  followed  his  guide  out  of  the  court-yard. 

Down  the  broad,  busy  streets,  now  swarming  with 
the  full  rush  of  daily  traffic;  choked  with  vehicles  of 
every  kind;  the  pavement  thronged  with  passengers; 
the  shops  with  buyers  ;  Jerry  looked  and  wondered, 
but  asked  no  questions.  Without  any  understanding 
of  what  he  saw  about  him,  he  accepted  the  bewilder- 
ment, and  with,  the  stoical  inertness  of  his  class,  he 
followed  his  guide  in  silence  ;  slouching  along,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  hat  drawn  well  down  to  his 
ears,  and  his  eyes  grown  keen  and  thoughtful  during 
his  few  days  of  travel,  wandering  over  the  scene  about 
him.  Suddenly  his  guide  stopped. 

"  Hello,  Sam!  "  he  called,  and  a  huge,  rough-coated 
man  turned  at  his  call. 

"  Hello,  George  !  "  was  answered,  then  the  two  men 
drew  together,  and  turning  aside  from  the  stream  of 


32  JERRY. 

pedestrians  talked  earnestly  for  a  few  moments,  at  last 
pulling  Jerry  forward. 

"  Here's  your  boss,  Jerry,"  "  63  "  said;  then  to  the 
man  called  "  Sam  " — "  don't  you  think  you  could  find 
work  for  him  on  the  boat  ?  " 

Sam  looked  the  limp  boy  over  from  head  to  heels. 

"  Work  ? "  he  repeated  slowly,  "  he  looks  more  like 
a  candidate  for  planting,"  and  he  laughed  a  little  fat, 
chuckling  laugh. 

"  Planting!  "  and  the  child's  face  changed  suddenly, 
— "  planting  "  a  word  that  until  lately  had  meant  noth- 
ing save  in  connection  with  potatoes  and  corn;  but 
that  now  had  come  to  mean  the  putting  out  of  sight  of 
people!  Now  they  spoke  of  "  planting"  him.  His 
heart  sank  within  him;  how  could  he  get  away  ? 

A  troubled,  keen  look  came  into  his  eyes  as  he 
measured  the  man  introduced  to  him  as  his  "  boss," — 
he  was  very  big,  the  child  thought,  and  as  his  hopes 
of  escape  seemed  to  lessen  from  this  survey,  his  fears 
increased  and,  combined  with  his  weariness,  came 
near  overpowering  him,  and  he  leaned  against  "63." 

"  He  looks  awful  weakly,"  Sam  went  on,  "  but  as 
you  ask  it,  George,  I'll  give  him  a  trip  ;  there  aint 
nothin'  mean  about  me,"  rubbing  his  fat  chin  ;  then 
to  the  child, — "  What  kin  you  do  ?  " 

"  Chop  wood,  an'  tote  water,"  was  answered  slowly. 

"  An'  leanin'  against  George  ;  that's  hopeful," 
laughing. 

"  I  kin,"  the  child  repeated,  "  when  I  gits  rested." 

"You're  sure  now?"  the  "  boss  "  went  on,  "an* 
when  I  gives  you  a  hatchet  you  wont  cut  my  boat  to 
pieces  ?  I'm  most  afraid  of  you,  I  am." 

But  Jerry  had  had  no  training  in  the  matter  of 
jokes,  and  for  answer  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  fore- 
head where  the  perspiration  of  fear  had  come  in  great 
drops  when  the  man  spoke  of  u  planting," — of  dealing 
with  him  as  his  mother  had  been  dealt  with. 

A  little  tremulous  motion  passed  over  him,  and  for 
the  first  time  the  idea  came  to  him  distinctly  that  he 


JERRY.  33 

should  go  back  and  take  the  brush  off,  and  so  undo 
his  part  of  the  evil  deed  ;  and  with  this  thought  the 
longing  that  his  mother  should  hear  him  say  over  and 
over  again  ;  as  he  was  whispering  now  while  the  men 
talked — "  I  never  knowed — I  never  knowed  !  " 

Then,  the  conference  being  over,  the  captain  laid 
his  fat  hand  on  Jerry's  shoulder  : 

''  Come  along  now,  Samson,"  he  said,  "  an'  we'll 
chop  that  cord  of  wood,"  and  as  in  the  morning  that 
now  seemed  so  far  away,  the  child  was  half-led,  halt- 
carried  down  the  street. 

Narrower  and  dirtier  the  street  grew,  and  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  people  changed  ;  then  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  wharf  that  projected  into  the  water,  the 
captain  gave  Jerry  over  to  a  rougher,  larger  man,  and 
with  a  farewell  joke  about  leaving  the  wood  until  the 
next  day,  he  turned  and  went  back  into  the  town. 
Down  the  hollow-sounding  plank  wharf  until  they 
reached  a  rusty  looking  steamboat  that  in  its  earliest 
youth  could  never  have  been  of  the  better  class  of 
vessels,  and  that  now  looked  cracked  and  frail  enough. 
In  and  out  among  barrels  and  bales,  the  child  fol- 
lowed his  third  guide  until  they  reached  the  gang- 
plank ;  then  he  stopped.  The  swift,  swirling  water 
that  was  suddenly  revealed  to  him  seemed  on  every 
hand,  and  he  realized  that  only  a  floor  was  between 
him  and  this  new  thing.  He  shrank  back,  cowering 
away  from  the  big  man. 

"  I'm  feared — I'm  feared!  "  he  cried  aloud,  "  lemme 
go — lemme  go  !  " 

For  a  moment  the  man  paused,  looking  down  in 
astonishment  on  the  frightened  child  ;  but  only  for 
a  moment,  then  with  an  oath  he  lifted  him,  and,  strid- 
ing across  the  plank,  dropped  him  on  a  pile  of  rope 
and  bagging  that  was  near  at  hand. 

Very  still  the  child  lay,  not  making  an  effort  to 
change  in  any  way  the  position  into  which  he  had 
fallen  ;  and  the  realization  of  his  absolute  helpless- 
ness rushed  over  him  with  dreadful  force.  Who 


34  JERRY. 

would  lift  him  again  across  that  narrow  plank  ;  and 
he  shivered  now  to  think  of  the  water  slipping  by  so 
silently,  so  swiftly  !  He  was  afraid  to  look  at  it,  yet 
longed  with  a  strange  fascination  to  see  it  once  more  ; 
and  where  had  it  all  come  from  ? 

"An'  I  can't  never  get  back  no  mo'  to  tuck  thet 
bresh  off,"  he  whispered  to  himself  ;  for  the  feeling 
that  had  come  to  him  so  gradually  had  at  last  taken 
hold  of  him  with  great  force,  until  now  it  had  reached 
the  point  of  remorse. 

"An'  ther  blossoms  air  done  dried  up  by  now,"  he 
went  on,  "an*  mammy'll  'How  them's  bresh  too,"  the 
little  whisper  died  away,  and  he  put  his  hands  over 
his  face. 

The  sun  had  set  and  the  darkness  was  falling  fast 
when  the  captain  returned  ;  and  Jerry  crouched 
closer  to  the  ropes  and  bagging  as  he  passed.  He 
had  a  great  fear  of  this  man,  and  thought  with  long- 
ing of  all  the  people  who  had  helped  him  on  his  way  ; 
even  of  old  Preacher  Babbit  who  threatened  to  take 
him  home  again  ;  but  this  man  was  bigger  even  than 
"  Minervy  Ann  Salter,"  and  he  was  entirely  in  his 
power. 

"  Mebby  he'll  furgit  me,"  he  whispered,  as  he  heard 
the  loud  voice  giving  orders  in  the  distance ;  wonder- 
ing the  while  what  the  increased  noise  meant,  when 
suddenly  a  sound  broke  on  His  ear  that  he  knew  was  a 
bell  simply  from  the  family  resemblance  it  bore  to  the 
cow-bells  of  his  native  region.  After  that,  a  strange 
scream  like  some  he  had  heard  that  morning  ;  again 
it  came,  and  with  it  a  great  sigh  and  shudder,  and  the 
frail  structure  that  held  him  from  the  water  shivered 
from  end  to  end. 

For  a  moment  he  crouched  closer  to  the  floor;  then 
as  the  second  scream  and  shudder  seemed  to  make 
certain  the  feared  destruction,  he  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  a  pitiful  little  cry. 

Terrified  as  only  an  ignorant  child  can  be  terrified, 
he  clung  to  the  guards  and  looked  to  where  the  gang- 


JERRY.  35 

plank  had  been  ;  in  his  desperation  he  would  have 
dared  that  journey  back  to  land. 

Alas,  the  plank  was  gone,  and  between  him  and  the 
city,  now  sparkling  with  myriad  lights,  there  lay  a 
broad  expanse  of  water  repeating  indefinitely  every 
flickering  gleam.  They  were  moving. 

"  Like  ther  box  of  strawer  !  "  he  said  fearfully  to 
himself,  then  stood  quite  still,  looking  down  stead- 
fastly into  the  water, — magnetized,  fascinated,  he 
watched  it. 

"  Slippin'  away  like  snakes,"  he  whispered,  as  if 
afraid  the  water  might  hear  him,  and  hearing  might 
crawl  up  to  where  he  stood.  "  I  hates  it — I  hates 
it  !  "  he  said,  unconsciously  raising  his  voice.  Then 
a  heavy  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  captain's 
rough  voice  asking: 

"  What's  that  you  hate  ?  " 

"  Ther  water,"  catching  his  breath  with  a  gasp. 

"  Why  ? " 

"  'Cause  it  favors  snakes,"  the  child  answered 
hurriedly.  "  'Cause  it  sorter  crawls  away  an'  don't 
make  no  soun',"  then  more  slowly — "  thar's  sich  a 
lot,  I'm  feared." 

"Come  away,  then.  Have  you  had  anything  to 
eat  ? " 

"  No." 

"Are  you  hungry  ?  " 

"  I  is,"  still  clinging  to  the  guard. 

"  Come  this  way,  then,"  turning  away  ;  but  the 
child  did  not  move.  "  Come  along,  I  say,"  and  the 
captain's  big  voice  grew  louder. 

"  I'm  feared  to  leggo,"  and  the  thin  face  looked  up 
fearfully. 

"  You  fool !  come  to  me." 

Two  terrors.  The  child  chose  the  least,  and  let- 
ting go  his  hold  on  the  side  of  the  boat,  he  walked 
unsteadily  to  his  master,  seizing  his  coat  anxiously. 

"  Now  are  you  dead  ?  " 

"I'll 'How  I'm  nigh  to  it,"  looking  furtively  at  the 


36  JERR  Y. 

open  space  left  for  the  gang-plank,  through  which  a 
broad  expanse  of  water  was  visible ;  "  it  creeps  an' 
crawls,  an'  I  hates  it,"  and  he  turned  his  face  away. 

The  captain  laughed  ;  but  he  was  merciful  enough 
not  to  take  his  coat  from  between  the  clinging  hands 
until  they  had  reached  the  dingy,  ill-smelling  cabin 
where  the  men  ate  ;  here  he  gave  the  child  into  the 
care  of  the  cook,  with  orders  for  him  to  be  fed  and 
given  a  place  to  sleep. 

So  all  night  long  the  boat  shivered  and  strained 
against  the  mighty  current  of  the  great  river;  and  the 
child  slept  uneasily,  waking  often  with  a  shudder,  as  he 
remembered  the  black  water  slipping  by  so  near  him. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Patient  children — think  what  pain 

Makes  a  young  child  patient, — ponder  ! 
Wronged  too  commonly  to  strain 
After  right,  or  wish  or  wonder." 

JERRY'S  hope  that  the  captain  would  forget  him 
was  doomed  to  disappointment,  and  with  the  earliest 
dawn  he  was  wakened  from  his  troubled  sleep 
and  put  to  work,  coiling  rope,  separating  into  dif- 
ferent piles  the  almost  innumerable  boxes  and  bags 
of  supplies  that  were  to  be  put  off  at  various  way 
landings.  So  the  long  day  passed;  and  Jerry  worked 
with  his  face  turned  away  from  the  water  ;  looking 
at  everything,  even  the  awful  captain,  rather  than  at 
the  dark  sliding  stream. 

"  Ittrimmels  'cause  it  can't  abear  to  tech  the  water," 
he  said,  pausing  with  a  rope  in  his  hand.  The  man 
working  near  him  looked  at  the  child  curiously. 

"What  trembles  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It,"  Jerry  answered,  striking  the  side  of  the  boat; 
"jest  yotiuns  feel  how  it  trimmels,"  looking  up  as  the 
boat  shivered  under  the  thud  of  the  engine;  "  it  can't 
abear  to  tech  ther  water  'cause  it  favors  snakes." 

The  man  laughed. 

"  You'd  better  not  let  the  boys  know  as  you're 
skeart  of  water,"  he  said  ;  "  they'll  devil  the  life  outer 
you." 

"  I'm  feared  sure,"  the  child  repeated;  and  the 
captain  lounging  by  heard  him. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  he  laughed,  "  the  boys  must  larn  you 
better'n  that,  Samson;  nobody  kin  run  on  this  craft 
that  is  a  coward:  we'll  dip  you  a  few  times  when  we 
git  in  order  and  have  nothin'  to  do,"  and  he  laughed 

37 


38  JERRY. 

again  until  he  shook;  "  it'll  help  your  lily-white  skin, 
Samson." 

The  child  made  no  answer  save  to  bend  lower  over 
his  work.  To  be  put  in  that  water, — to  feel  it  slipping 
by  him,  feeling  like  snakes  !  His  straight,  sun- 
burned hair  almost  stood  on  end.  Anything  would 
be  better  than  this,  even  his  father  and  Minervy  Ann 
Salter.  And  when  his  fellow-worker  would  be  at 
some  far-off  task,  he  would  creep  to  the  side  of  the 
boat  and  watch  with  fascination  this  latest  enemy. 
He  must  get  away — he  must  even  dare  to  cross  the 
plank  alone. 

"  How  long  'fore  youuns  has  time  ? "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  To  dip  you  ?  "  and  the  man  laughed;  "  by  morn- 
in',  I  reckon,  an*  you  kin  bet  your  life  they'll  duck  you 
good;  the  boys  won't  like  nothin'  better." 

"  Ther  mornin'  ? "  the  child  repeated,  "  after  weuns 
git  done  sleepin'  to-night  ?" 

"  That's  it,"  and  the  man  chuckled  to  himself  as  he 
thought  of  the  fun. 

Poor  Jerry  watched  at  every  landing  for  his  oppor- 
tunity: he  would  watch  the  gang-plank  swing  into 
place,  but  his  courage  failed  time  after  time,  for  to 
the  fear  of  the  precarious  crossing  was  added  the  fear 
that  seeing  him  on  the  plank  would  tempt  the  men 
to  dip  him.  He  determined  to  wait  until  night,  and 
watched  with  sickening  dread  the  growing  order  on 
the  boat. 

At  last  the  day  was  done,  and  Jerry  felt  safer, 
and  made  up  his  mind  to  get  off  at  the  first  landing 
after  nightfall.  If  he  fell  in  the  water, — if  they 
should  catch  him  and  bring  him  back, — these  were 
possibilities  too  dreadful  to  be  entertained  for  a 
moment. 

Slowly  the  twilight  ended  and  the  darkness  came: 
supper  was  over;  preparations  were  being  made  for  a 
stoppage,  and  in  the  hurry  Jerry  was  forgotten  and 
unnoticed  as  he  crouched  in  the  shadow  near  the  gang- 
way. 


JERRY.  39 

The  night  was  inky  black,  with  a  light  rain  falling 
that  was  scarcely  to  be  felt  at  first,  but  that  neverthe- 
less promised  a  thorough  wetting.  A  dreary  night  to 
run  away  in  ;  but  Jerry  was  desperate,  and  waited  in 
the  shadow  with  his  hat  pressed  well  down,  and  his 
bundle  safe  inside  his  shirt. 

Close  up  under  the  high  bluff  the  boat  swung;  the  bell 
clanging,  the  whistle  screaming,  and  every  other  noise 
that  could  be  made,  breaking  the  cloud-weighted  still- 
ness of  the  night.  Boxes  and  barrels  and  bales  were 
put  on  and  off  with  all  the  marvelous  celerity  of  trained 
handlers;  and  still  the  child  saw  no  chance,  for  lights 
flickered  everywhere.  At  last  there  came  a  moment's 
cessation  of  the  noise:  was  the  plank  to  swing  into 
place  again  as  he  had  seen  it  do  so  many  times  that 
day,  and  he  be  carried  on  ? 

There  was  a  tremulous  sigh,  a  stifled  gasp,  then  a 
little  shadow  sped  across  the  wavering  plank  :  one 
second  in  the  glare  of  the  lanterns,  the  next  buried  in 
the  black  shadow  of  the  bluff.  No  one  called  after 
him — no  one  seemed  to  have  seen  him — and  in  and 
out  between  the  piles  of  landed  cargo  he  crawled, 
surely  but  slowly  making  his  way  to  the  impenetrable 
darkness  outside  the  circle  of  barrels  and  boxes. 

At  last  he  came  to  where  a  little  way  up  the  bank  a 
clump  of  bushes  grew,  and  above  them  a  small  tree 
that  had  toppled  over  with  the  caving  in  of  the  bluff : 
carefully  he  crawled  up,  glad  to  find  a  place  where  he 
could  rest  and  hide  until  the  boat  went  away. 

"  They'll  furgit  me  'till  mornin',"  he  thought,  then 
watched  the  moving  lights,  and  listened  to  the  noises 
that  sounded  so  preternaturally  clear  and  far  in  the 
black  stillness.  The  rain  whispered  softly,  and  min- 
gled with  it  came  the  low  licking  of  the  river,  eating 
hungrily  into  the  shore. 

Gradually  it  attracted  Jerry's  attention,  and  he  lis- 
tened anxiously  :  it  seemed  so  near  that  if  he  put  his 
foot  down  the  creeping  coldness  would  wrap  it  round. 
He  drew  his  feet  up  under  him,  and  listened  intently, 


40  JERR  Y. 

until  all  other  sounds  passed  from  his  hearing  en- 
tirely, and  only  the  hungry  gnawing  of  the  river  was 
with  him. 

The  boat  swung  out  into  the  stream,  and  away  on 
her  journey  :  the  boxes  and  barrels  were  carried  slow- 
ly up  the  bank  ;  all  life  and  light  faded  away  ;  th-e 
rain  patiently  filtered  through  the  foliage  of  the  little 
tree  and  through  the  child's  few  garments  where  he 
crouched  listening  to  the  voice  of  his  enemy. 

"  Ef  I  drap  to  sleep  it  mout  ketch  me,"  he  muttered, 
and  he  took  a  closer  hold  on  the  slim  stem  against 
which  he  leaned.  This  made  him  feel  more  safe,  and 
as  he  moved,  some  more  sand  sliding  down  against 
his  back,  the  thought  came  to  him  that  a  great  deal 
might  roll  down  and  "  kivver  him  like  his  mammy  !  " 

And  with  this  thought  his  remorse  for  the  help  he 
had  given  his  father  came  back  upon  him ;  the  pres- 
ent was  forgotten,  and  his  voice  broke  the  stillness  of 
the  night.  "  I'll  go  back,"  he  said,  as  if  taking  an 
oath,  "go  back  if  Dad  knocks  me  over  onest  a  min- 
ute— I  will,  sure."  When  the  morning  dawned  he 
would  turn  his  face,  not  his  back,  to  the  rising  sun, 
and  it  would  surely  guide  him  home. 

"An*  I'll  tuck  all  ther  bresh  an'  ther  dirt  off,  Mam- 
my"—  talking  softly  to  himself,  his  heart  feeling 
lighter  for  the  resolve — "  an'  weuns  kin  run  away 
agin  ;  an'  weuns  kin  talk,  and  Dad  wont  be  roun'  to 
cuss  us,"  so  the  one  love  of  his  life  would  come  back 
to  him. 

Poor  love  that  had  been  so  surreptitiously  given  ; 
had  been  able  only  to  show  itself  in  such  humble 
ways  :  the  secret  soothing  after  a  beating, — a  little 
coffee  hidden  that  he  might  drink  it  when  his  father 
was  out  of  the  way, — a  bundle  of  dry  leaves  pushed 
under  the  straw  he  slept  on  to  make  his  resting-place 
a  little  softer.  So  he  remembered  his  mother.  He 
could  not  understand  her  going  from  him,  but  he 
could  remember  how  it  had  happened  :  remembered 
how  his  mother  stood  still  and  watching  while  his 


JERRY.  41 

father  beat  him, — remembered  how  he  would  not  cry 
out  because  she  had  warned  him  not  to,  even  when 
in  his  drunken  fury  his  father  raised  him  to  dash  him 
against  the  chimney  !  He  remembered  the  breath- 
less, silent,  upward  swing — then  the  sharp  cry  as  his 
mother's  arms  wrapped  close  about  him,  and  the  blow 
that  followed.  He  covered  his  face  as  the  sound  of 
the  dull  thud  came  back  to  him  ;  and  after  that  the 
strange  stillness  there  was  about  the  house  when  he 
waked  again  and  found  himself  on  his  pile  of  straw, 
and  on  the  bed  his  mother  lying,  and  the  old  woman, 
their  only  neighbor,  watching  her.  He  talked  to  her 
that  afternoon,  and  heard  her  speak  then  of  the 
"  Golden  Gates";  and  his  father  crouching  over  the 
fire  heard  too,  and  did  not  curse  her.  That  night  he 
fell  asleep  lying  there  close  by  her  side  ;  and  in  the 
morning  she  was  there  still,  but  though  he  called  and 
spoke  to  her  until  his  father  and  the  old  woman 
turned  him  out  of  the  house,  she  never  answered.  He 
had  understood  nothing  that  followed  until  he  had 
learned  wisdom  from  the  woman  in  the  valley.  Now 
that  he  understood  all  that  had  happened,  he  would 
go  back  ;  would  begin  his  return  journey  when  day- 
light came,  and  it  would  not  take  him  long  :  he  could 
soon  get  back  again  and  pull  the  brush  off. 

Slower  and  slower  the  thoughts  came  ;  the  ugly 
little  head  drooped  against  the  tree  ;  the  loose  sand 
settled  more  warmly  about  him  ;  the  rain,  the  wind, 
the  gnawing  of  the  water  faded  from  his  hearing,  and 
he  slept  as  soundly  as  the  dead  woman  on  the  hillside. 

Slept  while  the  clouds  floated  away,  and  in  the 
dawn  his  pitiful  eyes  watched  the  sun  rise — eyes  that 
grew  wide  with  despair. 

At  his  feet  the  mighty,  impassable  river,  and  beyond 
the  other  shore  the  sun  rose. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  What  use  in  hope  ? 

What  use  ! 

In  waiting  long  with  empty  hands  held  high — 
In  watching  patiently  the  clouded  sky — 
What  use — you  soon  will  die  ?  " 

WE  yearn  and   strive,  and  long,  and  grieve,  and 
hold  up  praying  hands.     Then  stand  and  watch 
with  death-like  serenity,  may  be,  while  our  hopes, 
our  beliefs,  our  loves,  all  of  them  dyed  to  the  most 
prismatic  loveliness  by  the  light  gone  from  our  eyes — 
the  strength    from   our   youth — the   blood  from  our 
hearts,  fade   from   us  as   certainly  as   the  day  fades 
down  the  western  sky.     Fade  from  us  entirely,  until 
we  are  glad  when  they — 

"  Put  the  death-weights  on  our  eyes 
To  seal  them  safe  from  tears. " 

The  ragged  tops  of  the  great  mountains  behind 
him — the  broken  cliffs  falling  down  a  hundred  feet 
below  him — and  far  off  beyond  this  wild  desert  of 
rock — in  the  gold  and  purple  glory  of  the  dying  day — 
the  distant  valley  lying  like  a  dream. 
And  where  were  the  "  Golding  Gates  ?  " 
Jerry  crouched  on  the  dizzy  pinnacle  of  barren 
rock  only  a  step  away  from  the  narrow  foot-track  he 
had  so  persistently  climbed.  Ever  since  the  day  be- 
fore he  had  been  toiling  up  and  up  the  grim  moun- 
tains, sure  that  at  last  he  had  reached  his  goal.  The 
path  wound  up  and  up  along  the  dizzy  cliffs  ;  through 
tiny  clefts  ;  through  yawning  denies  ;  avoiding  and 
rounding  the  higher  peaks  until  now  on  the  western 
side,  with  the  apex  of  the  mighty  ridge  left  behind,  it 

42 


JERRY.  43 

touched  with  one  curve  this  crowning  height  of  its 
course  ere  it  turned  to  descend. 

He  crouched  there  with  the  September  wind  striking 
sharply  through  his  thin  clothing — his  face  looking 
drawn  and  blank — his  hands  clasped  close. 

Where  were  the  "  Golding  Gates  ? " 

When  the  river  had  intervened  between  him  and 
his  resolve  on  that  May  morning  that  seemed  so  long 
ago,  the  child  had  resumed  his  old  course  toward  the 
west, — toward  the  "  Golding  Gates  ";  but  with  as  little 
hope  of  seeing  them,  as  there  was  hope  left  in  his 
heart  that  he  would  again  see  his  mother. 

Still,  as  evening  after  evening  he  watched  the  west- 
ern sky,  the  "  gates "  seemed  to  grow  into  absolute 
certainties  that  some  day  he  would  touch.  Sometimes 
through  rain  mists  he  watched  the  glorious  flame- 
lights  shoot  up  to  lay  warm  hands  upon  the  homeless 
clouds  :  sometimes  across  the  hot  dry  prairies, — track- 
less, wild,  deserted, — the  sun  fell  suddenly  like  a  fiery 
ball :  sometimes  it  sank  in  clear  amber  depths  that 
seemed  to  vibrate  and  throb  in  tremulous  pulsations. 
It  had  grown  into  his  life  and  his  heart,  this  hope  for  the 
"gates  "  his  mother  had  been  so  sure  were  near,  and 
for  weeks  as  he  made  his  way  toward  these  mountains, 
— pausing  to  work  for  his  food, — pausing  until  some 
merciful  hand  would  wash  and  patch  his  clothes, — 
begging  a  lift  from  some  kindly  emigrant, — for  all 
these  weeks,  ever  since  these  mountains  came  in  sight, 
he  had  made  sure  that  behind  this  last  barrier  he 
would  find  the  gates. 

And  now  with  this  last  disappointment  his  strength 
seemed  to  leave  him,  and  he  shivered  and  crouched 
close  to  the  rocks  as  the  wind  struck  him. 

"  Youuns  'Mowed  'twornt  much  fur,  Mammy,"  he 
whispered,  looking  out  wonderingly,  hopelessly  to  the 
fading  distance,  "  An'  I've  done  come,  an'  come 
fur  a  long  time,  an'  it  don't  seems  like  I  gits  to 
nowhars,"  a  moment  longer  he  looked  out  across  the 
grand  scene,  then  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 


44  JERR  y. 

"  Oh,  Mammy,  Mammy  !  "  he  wailed,  "  I  aint  got 
no  place  ~I  aint  got  nobody — oh,  Mammy,  Mammy!" 
and  the  frail,  uncared-for,  unlovely  little  creature  was 
shaken  with  a  storm  of  sobs. 

Somehow  in  the  months  he  had  wandered  the  knowl- 
edge of  his  loneliness  had  come  to  him.  He  had 
worked  sometimes  for  people  in  very  different  spheres 
from  the  one  he  lived  in,  and  he  had  seen  mothers  and 
children  together  in  ways  not  practiced  in  his  own 
class  ;  and  watching  he  had  learned  that  people  be- 
longed to  each  other,  and  with  this  knowledge  came 
the  other,  that  he  belonged  to  no  one.  Still,  the 
"  Golding  Gates  "  opened  as  a  vision  before  him  : 
always  inextricably  mixed  in  his  mind  with  the  sun- 
sets ;  always  looking  warm  and  shining  ;  they  had 
become  home,  and  mother,  and  love  to  him  ;  he 
ceased  to  feel  lonely  when  he  thought  of  them,  and 
what  work  he  had  to  do  was  done  more  briskly  be- 
cause of  this  vision  in  his  mind.  Somehow  they  would 
welcome  him  and  make  him  happy  when  he  reached 
them,  for  his  mother  had  said  she  would  not  be  tired, 
nor  sick,  nor  hungry  any  more  when  she  got  there. 
Now  he  crouched,  unheeding  all  the  desolate  grandeur 
spread  before  him  :  one  wild  spring  would  have  ended 
all,  but  he  did  not  know  that ;  he  did  not  know  what 
death  meant  ;  he  could  not  understand  how  and  why 
he  stood  where  he  was  ;  he  simply  accepted  facts,  and 
only  reasoned  enough  to  avoid  pain  and  hunger. 

But  at  last  he  realized  his  loneliness  ;  his  "  Golding 
Gates,"  his  hope  by  day  and  his  dream  by  night,  had 
been  taken  away  from  him,  and  his  life  was  left  unto 
him  desolate. 

He  crept  slowly  from  off  the  great  boulder,  and  once 
more  on  the  path  passed  downward  wearily  ;  climbing, 
slipping,  letting  himself  down  from  rock  to  rock,  he 
made  his  way  mechanically.  There  was  nothing  to 
make  him  him  hasten  now, — nothing  ahead  of  him  to 
make  him  heedless  of  the  toil  :  he  did  not  think  any 
more  of  following  the  sunset,  for  this  last  revelation, — 


JERR  Y.  45 

this  last  long  view  across  the  valley,  had  somehow 
made  him  feel  that  his  mother  had  been  mistaken.  He 
had  seen  so  far  from  the  top  of  that  rock  :  it  would 
take  him  until  the  blackberries  blossomed  again  be- 
fore he  could  go  as  far  as  he  had  seen  ;  and  now  he 
felt  so  weak  and  sick  he  could  not  do  it. 

Heavily,  unthinkingly  he  moved,  guided  by  an  in- 
stinct that  made  him  go  further  down  where  he  might 
find  some  fellow-creature.  He  knew  that  nobody  lived 
among  these  barren  rocks  ;  a  woman  on  the  other  side 
had  told  him  so;  she  had  warned  him  that  he  would  get 
lost,  or  starve  to  death,  or  fall  from  some  high  place 
and  be  killed,  or  some  "  wild  critter  'd  kill  him  jest  to 
git  what  small  pickin's  thar  was  on  his  bones  ;  they 
gits  mighty  hungry,  the  varmints  do."  But  Jerry  was 
not  to  be  dissuaded  from  crossing  the  mountains  ;  his 
Mammy  had  said  he  would  find  the  "  Golding  Gates," 
and  his  own  eyes  had  seen  the  sun  sink  behind  these 
very  mountains  for  many  weeks, — of  course  the 
"  Gates  "  were  behind  them  too. 

From  every  meal  he  had  saved  some  scrap  as  store 
to  help  him  over  the  mountains  :  he  had  not  told  his 
hopes  ;  he  had  used  no  contrary  arguments,  not  even 
when  the  wild  beasts  were  represented  as  ferocious 
enough  to  eat  such  a  lean  morsel  as  he  was.  He  sat 
in  stolid  silence,  filling  with  his  hoarded  treasures  of 
broken  food  a  small  cotton  bag  some  kind  person  had 
given  him  in  which  to  carry  his  bread  and  meat. 

And  early  in  the  dawn  he  had  started  on  his  well 
nigh  desperate  undertaking  :  had  climbed  all  day  as 
far  as  his  strength  would  allow  :  had  slept  in  a  crev- 
ice of  the  rocks  at  night,  pushing  aside  his  fears  by 
thought  of  the  "  Golding  Gates  "  he  would  reach  on  the 
morrow.  And  when  the  morrow  came,  tired  and  hun- 
gry,— for  his  little  store  of  food  had  not  satisfied 
him, — he  still  pushed  on  higher  and  higher,  when 
every  step  made  him  feel  more  surely  the  biting  wind. 
Up  and  up,  not  scanning  much  in  front  of  him, — not 
looking  much  beyond  the  next  step  he  must  take — 


46  JERR  Y. 

the  next  rock  he  must  climb  ;  going  on  in  perfect 
faith  that  when  the  sun  set  he  would  be  safe  and 
happy  inside  the  "gates";  and  far  down  in  his  heart 
there  was  a  feeling  that  somehow  his  Mammy  would 
be  there,  and  he  could  tell  her  all  about  that  "bresh." 

And  crouching  in  the  cutting  wind  he  saw  only  a 
barren  wilderness  of  rocks,  and  far  off  across  infinite 
distance  the  sun  fading  grandly  down  the  western 
sky.  No  nearer  now  than  when  from  among  his  own 
hills  he  watched  it  die. 

No  nearer  love  and  rest  now  than  then,  but  only 
more  lonely  for  his  last  hope  gone. 

In  those  dim  days  of  ignorance  he  had  piled  that 
grave  with  brush  to  hide  the  rails  that  were  to 
keep  it  safe  ;  now  in  his  wisdom  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  only  aided  a  most  evil  design.  Then  he  had 
set  out  in  undoubting  faith  to  find  a  happy  land 
where  there  would  be  rest  and  plenty  :  now  when  his 
hand  reached  for  the  hard-won  prize,  it  faded  from 
his  grasp. 

Down  into  the  gathering  shadows  he  went;  further 
and  further  still  :  an  endless  distance  it  seemed  to 
him  when  at  last  he  came  to  a  little  grass,  and 
lying  down,  for  he  was  very  weary,  he  looked  back  to 
where  so  high  above  him  the  light  lingered.  His 
head  felt  heavy  and  hurt  him,  and  his  body  seemed 
torn  by  a  hundred  little  creeping  pains.  He  lay 
quite  still,  wondering  in  a  dull,  vague  way  what  ailed 
him.  He  was  hungry  and  weak,  and  must  reach 
some  place  that  night  where  he  could  be  warmed  and 
fed. 

"  If  I  could  git  to  feel  a  good  fire,"  he  said  "  I  'llow 
I'd  be  better." 

Slowly  he  rose  and  stumbled  on  ;  his  head  seemed 
to  grow  more  heavy,  and  a  deadly  chill  mingled  with 
his  many  pains. 

Down,  still  down  the  path  led,  but  it  was  broader 
now,  and  more  worn,  as  if  constantly  used. 

"  Mebbe  I'll  git  to  som'ers  atter  a  while,"  pausing 


JERR  Y.  47 

as  for  a  moment  the  whole  mountain  side  seemed  to 
waver  and  tremble. 

He  covered  his  eyes. 

"  It's  me  as  is  a-shakin',''  fearfully,  "  an'  I  aint  got 
no  place  :  if  I  could  jest  git  to  feel  a  fire,  jest  fur  a 
minnit  :  Oh,  Mammy,  Mammy  !  "  then  all  faded  from 
him,  and  he  sank  down  on  the  roadside.  At  last  he 
was  worn  out ;  for  with  his  hope  his  little  strength 
had  failed  him,  and  lying  limp  and  haggard  among 
the  gray  rocks,  he  looked  as  if  the  "  Gates  "  had  at  last 
opened  for  him,  and  the  weary,  ignorant  little  soul 
had  crept  in  among  the  paradise  flowers. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  Is  your  wisdom  very  wise, — 
On  this  narrow  earth  ? 
Very  happy,  very  worth 
That  I  should  stay  to  learn  ? 
Are  these  air-corrupting  sighs 
Fashioned  by  unlearned  breath  ? 
Do  the  students'  lamps  that  burn 
All  night,  illumine  death  ?  " 

"  T I  THERE  did  you  find  him,  Joe  !  " 

\\  "I  were  a-comin'  down  Blake's  trail,  an'  I 
sawn  him  a-lyin'  thar  liker  dead  critter,  I  did," 
and  Joe  poked  the  fire,  "  an'  I  says,  says  I,  Joe  Gil- 
Ham,  yon's  dead  ;  but  when  I  got  nigher  I  sorter 
changed,  an'  I  poked  him,  says  I,  '  Sonny,'  says  I  ; 
an'  he  riz  right  up  lookin'  wild  like  ;  says  'ee  '  Mammy, 
I  aint  got  no  place, — Mammy,  I  aint  got  nobody  ! '  I 
were  tuck  all  to  pieces,  Doctor  ;  says  I  '  Sonny, 
you  shell  hev  a  place,'  says  I,  an'  I  brunged  him 
here,  I  did,"  and  again  the  man  pushed  the  fire, 
going  on  more  slowly — "  I  aint  got  nobody  nuther, 
Doctor  ;  but  I  'llowed  thet  as  I  hes  a  leetle  place  I'd 
keep  him  fur  comp'ny  like  ;  an'  'cause  he  talks  like 
my  own  home  folks." 

.  The  man    addressed  as  "  doctor  "    stood   looking 
down  into  the  fire. 

"  If  we  can  keep  him,  Joe,"  he  said. 

"  He's  powerful  bony,"  Joe  admitted,  "  looks  like 
he'd  been  starved  fur  a  long  time  ;  an'  he  never  had 
nothin'  alonger  him  ceppen  this  leetle  passel,"  taking 
a  small,  dirty,  newspaper-wrapped  bundle  from  a 
crevice  in  the  wall,  "seems  like  it's  strawer  inside," 
turning  it  over  slowly. 

The  doctor  took  the  bundle,  looked  at  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  replaced  it  in  the  wall. 

48 


JERRY.  49 

"  An'  he's  been  a-cryin'  jest  like  he's  hollerin'  now 
ever  sence  yisterday  mornin',"  Joe  went  on  seriously; 
"  fust  I  'llowed  as  I  could  fotch  hjm  roun',  but  'twornt 
no  use,  you  bet." 

"  Poor  little  creature,"  and  the  doctor  turned  again 
to  the  bed  where  Jerry  lay  in  a  consuming  fever,  turn- 
ing his  head  from  side  to  side  with  the  never-ceasing 
cry — "  I  never  knowed,  Mamrny, — I  never  knowed." 
The  voice  was  sinking  lower  each  hour  from  weak- 
ness, and  the  doctor  had  to  bend  down  now  to  hear 
him — "  I  never  knowed — I  never  knowed,"  the  pitiful 
cry  went  on. 

Then  the  doctor  whispered — 

"  I  know  that." 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  monotonous  movement  of 
the  head  ;  the  wild  eyes  fastened  on  his  face,  and  the 
little  hand  crept  up  to  touch  him. 

"  An'  ther  blossoms  ?  "  the  weak  voice  went  on. 

"  Beautiful  ?  "  was  answered. 

"  What  ?"  uneasily. 

"  Pretty,"  the  doctor  repeated. 

"  They  was,  sure  ;  an'  youuns  was  powerful  proud 
er  blossoms,  Mammy." 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  I  never  knowed — I  never  knowed." 

"  Yes." 

"An'  I  never  knowed,"  more  slowly  as  the  eyes  closed 
and  the  hands  fell  limp  onthequilt, — "I  neverknowed." 

The  doctor's  finger  was  on  the  fluttering  pulse. 

"  He  is  going  to  sleep,  Joe,"  he  said  ;  "  but  you 
must  watch  him  if  you  want  him." 

"  I  will,"  Joe  answered.  "  An'  I  dunno,  doctor, 
but  he's  got  a  grip  on  me,  he  has  ;  I  reckon  histalkin' 
done  it." 

"  And  give  him  whiskey  and  milk  all  night." 

"  Jest  so." 

"  And  I  will  come  up  again  in  the  morning."  Then 
the  doctor  stooped  under  the  low  doorway,  and 
mounting  his  horse,  rode  off. 


5°  JERRY. 

Patiently  Joe  watched,  and  when  the  night  fell  he 
rose  from  his  place  in  the  chimney-corner  to  close  and 
bolt  the  stout  wooden  shutter  that  guarded  the  win- 
dow, and  to  bar  securely  the  door.  He  shut  the  door 
very  carefully,  trying  it  again  and  again  ;  then  reach- 
ing down  a  long,  lean  rifle  he  proceeded  to  load  and 
cap  it,  then  put  it  against  the  wall  near  his  chair,  full 
cocked. 

"  Youuns  is  dange'ous,  Tom,"  he  said,  as  if  the 
rifle  understood,  and  patted  it  gently  ;  then,  as  by  a 
preconcerted  signal,  there  emerged  from  one  corner  a 
huge,  hideous  yellow  dog,  stump-tailed,  bow-legged, 
but  with  a  breadth  of  chest  and  a  jaw  that  promised 
a  hopeless  grip. 

"Youuns  is  honggry,  is  you,  Pete  ?  "  going  to  the 
corner  and  lifting  most  carefully  the  leaves  that  made 
his  bed,  "  I'll  feed  you,  jest  hev  a  leetle  patience," — 
then  he  peered  about  the  low  rafters  with  a  torch 
flickering  and  flaring  in  his  hand.  "  It's  better  to 
know  fur  sure,"  he  said  as  he  put  down  the  torch  and 
proceeded  to  feed  the  evil-looking  dog.  "  Eatin* 
means  a  good  grip,  Pete,"  giving  him  a  rough  caress  ; 
then  once  more  taking  up  the  rifle,  he  looked  care- 
fully to  its  condition. 

So  the  night  swept  on,  the  moon  sending  but  few 
rays  to  touch  the  low  log  house  so  far  back  under  the 
rocks.  The  man  dozed  in  his  chair — the  sleeping  boy 
looked  dead — the  fire  flickered  weirdly,  and  the  dog 
breathed  loud  in  the  corner.  Slowly  the  dawn  crept 
over  the  mountains,  and  with  the  first  ray  of  light 
the  man  roused  himself  with  a  start,  reaching  his 
hand  to  his  rifle  before  his  eyes  were  well  opened,  and 
listening  intently.  He  could  hear  nothing  but  the 
breathing  of  the  dog — was  the  child  dead  ?  He 
crossed  over  to  the  bed,  and  bent  his  ear  to  the 
thin  lips  ;  but  the  breath  came  regularly,  and  raising 
him  for  the  whisky,  he  laid  him  down  again  and  cov- 
ered him  as  gently  as  a  woman  might. 

Soon  the  fire  blazed,  and  the  breakfast  for  the  man 


JERR  Y.  5  J 

and  the  dog  was  under  way  ;  then  he  made  the  same 
survey  he  had  made  the  night  before,  of  the  dog's  bed 
and  the  rafters,  before  he  opened  either  the  window 
or  the  door. 

He  was  a  middle-aged  man,  with  close-cut  gray 
hair,  keen  gray  eyes,  deep  set  under  bushy  eye- 
brows, and  filled  with  an  eager  light.  He  was  short, 
squarely  built,  with  long,  powerful  arms,  and  shoul- 
ders rounded  forward  as  from  years  of  stooping. 
Canvas  trousers,  high,  heavy  boots,  and  a  red  flannel 
shirt  that  opening  at  the  throat  showed  a  neck  like  a 
bull-dog's. 

His  movements  were  slow  and  silent,  and  his 
long  arms  seemed  to  reach  from  place  to  place 
like  the  legs  of  a  great  spider.  The  meal  that  he 
cooked  was  simple  enough,  and  after  carefully  giving 
the  dog  much  the  larger  part,  he  ate  slowly  and 
earnestly. 

Away  off  from  under  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs  the 
sun  was  shining  brightly  now,  and  standing  in  the 
doorway  one  could  see  far  below  where  the  long 
shafts  of  light  struck  down,  losing  themselves  among 
the  black  pines,  and  beyond  sweeping  like  a  tender 
hand  over  the  barren,  brown  rocks. 

Joe  only  looked  down  the  trail,  he  did  not  watch 
the  sunlight ;  he  did  not  heed  any  of  the  beauty  about 
him  ;  he  was  listening  intently,  with  his  arms  folded, 
and  his  hat  drawn  down  to  shield  his  keen  eyes. 

"  I  can't  spar'  another  day,"  he  said,  stepping  out  a 
little  distance  to  get  a  better  view  down  the  path.  "  I 
aint  done  a  good  stroke  for  three  days  an'  mo',"  walk- 
ing restlessly  back.  "  I  'llowed  he'd  come  afore  now." 
Then  going  within  he  gave  the  child  the  milk  or- 
dered, looking  steadfastly  at  it  the  while. 

"  I  aint  tasted  no  milk  in  a-many  a  year,"  he  said 
slowly  ;  "  poor  leetle  Nan  wanted  a  cow  powerful," 
and  he  drew  a  long  breath  that  in  the  civilized  world 
would  have  answered  for  a  sigh,  then  he  turned  to  the 
child. 


52  JERRY. 

Mechanically  the  milk  was  taken  ;  the  heavy  eye- 
lids did  not  rise,  the  parched,  cracked  lips  seemed 
scarcely  to  close  on  the  cup,  and  once  more  on  the 
hard  pillow,  the  narrow,  yellow  face  looked  beyond 
the  reach  of  human  help. 

"  Pore  leetle  varmint,  he's  hed  a  rale  rough  time 
sure,"  and  Joe  lifted  the  toil-worn,  bony  hand  and 
laid  it  back  on  the  coverlid  as  gently  as  if  his  great 
strength  were  trained  to  the  handling  of  little  things  ; 
then  he  returned  to  his  watch  in  the  doorway. 

Slowly  the  doctor  came  :  the  way  was  long  ;  the 
path  was  narrow  and  steep,  and  on  every  hand  were 
pictures  that  could  have  detained  him  all  day. 

Slowly  but  surely,  and  Joe's  brow  cleared  as  the 
first  sharp  ring  of  the  horse's  hoof  on  the  rocks  struck 
his  ear  :  very  far  away,  but  in  the  death-like  stillness 
of  the  rocky  wilderness  the  sounds  came  very  dis- 
tinctly, with  every  now  and  then  the  rattle  of  a  loos- 
ened stone  rolling  down  to  some  unknown  depth. 

"  Et  laist,"  Joe  muttered,  and  went  forward  to  meet 
his  guest. 

"  Is  he  alive  ?  "  was  the  first  question. 

"  He  is  ;  but  looks  morer  like  dead,"  then  Joe 
took  the  horse  to  tie  it,  and  the  doctor  stooped  under 
the  doorway. 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  child's  pulse,  then  lifted 
the  eyelids  to  look  into  the  eyes. 

"  Has  he  been  quiet  all  night  ?  "  to  Joe. 

"  Jest  the  way  yer  sees  him." 

"  Well,  I  will  wait  until  'he  wakens,"  and  the  doc- 
tor put  a  small  tin  bucket  on  the  table,  "  it  is  the  milk, 
Joe,  and  you  had  better  put  it  in  a  jug  in  the 
spring." 

But  Joe  did  not  move  ;  he  stood  looking  at  the  doc- 
tor doubtfully. 

"  How  long  will  he  be  a-sleepin'  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  placing  a  chair  in  the  doorway  ; 
"  why  ?  " 

"I  wanter  go  to  my  work." 


JERRY.  .53 

"  Your  work  ?  "  slowly,  not  turning  his  eyes  from 
the  scene  outside  the  door  ;  "  what  is  it,  Joe  ? " 

A  keener  light  came  into  Joe's  eyes,  and  he  cast  a 
furtive  glance  at  the  rafters,  and  toward  the  dog's 
corner. 

44 1  works  over  in  Eureky  ;  I's  been  a-doin'  it  ever 
sence  before  youuns  come  to  Burdens." 

"  That  will  take  you  until  night." 

"  If  I  works  it  will  :  but  I'll  jest  tell  'em  I'm  a-com- 
in',  thet's  all  I  wanter  do  ";  then  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  do  you  reckon  he'll  sleep  thet  long?  " 

"  You  may  go  ;  but  leave  me  something  to  eat." 

"  I  aint  got  nothin'  fatten,  doctor,"  with  real  regret 
in  his  voice,  "I  aint  never  onest  thought  'bout  thet." 

"  Any  meal  ?  " 

"  Lord,  yes,  an'  bacon,  too  ;  but  thet's  all." 

"  That  will  do  ;  but  remember,  I  do  not  wish  to  bt 
on  the  road  after  dark." 

"  All  right,"  then  Joe  paused,  again  looking  doubt 
fully  at  the  doctor,  "  and  Pete  ? "  he  asked  slowly, 
"  will  you  give  him  a  bite?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Thenkey,  doctor,"  with  a  grunt  of  satisfaction, 
and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  horse 
was  unsaddled  and  tethered  ;  the  milk  in  an  earthen- 
ware jug  in  the  spring,  and  Joe  on  his  way  down  the 
mountain-side,  with  a  long  swinging  stride  that  soon 
took  him  out  of  sight. 

Very  still  the  man  in  the  doorway  sat,  looking  out 
with  a  far-reaching  look  that  seemed  to  be  searching 
time  rather  than  space.  Perfectly  still,  with  his  arms 
folded,  his  head  bent,  and  his  broad-brimmed  hat 
drawn  down  to  shade  his  eyes.  The  sunlight  crept 
nearer, — a  bright  snake  glided  slowly  past  among  the 
rocks, — a  lizard  basked  on  the  logs  of  the  house, — 
the  hideous  dog  came  out  and  sniffed  about  the  fig- 
ure sitting  so  still,  and  a  busy  spider  span  its  web 
across  the  corner  of  the  doorway. 

Quite  still  until  a  little  sound  reached  him, — a  long 


54  JERR  y. 

sigh  with  a  sobbing  catch  in  it.  He  rose  quickly,  and 
laying  aside  his  hat  bent  over  the  child  :  another  sob- 
bing sigh,  then  the  eyes  opened  slowly, — looking  up 
without  a  question  in  them, — without  a  hope,  only  so 
weary. 

Then  the  little  whisper — 

"  I  never  knowed." 

"  Yes,"  the  doctor  answered,  "  but  you  must  drink 
this  for  me,"  and  he  raised  the  child  gently. 

Again  the  unchildish  eyes  opened  and  looked  into 
the  man's  eyes  above  them. 

"  Mammy  'llowed  'twor'nt  much  fur  ;  but  I'm  done 
give  out  sure,"  and  the  weak  whisper  died  away. 

11 1  know  that,"  the  doctor  answered  ;  "  but  drink 
this." 

The  child  obeyed,  looking  steadfastly  into  the  face 
above  him  : 

"  I  kin  chop  wood  fur  youuns,"  with  a  little  gasp, 
"an'  tote  water  when  I  gits  rested,  I  kin." 

"  Very  well,  but  you  must  rest  now,"  and  he  turned 
over  the  hard  pillow  before  he  laid  the  child  down 
again. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  movement,  and  the  little 
wasted  creature  looked  like  a  hunted  animal  :  ".Whar's 
it !  "  the  weak  voice  breaking  with  a  cry,  "  hes  you- 
uns tooken  it?  Oh,  gimme,  gimme,  gimme!"  and 
he  clutched  the  doctor's  arm,  "  oh,  gimme  !  it  can't 
do  you  no  good." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  kindly. 

"  My  bundle,  my  leetle  bundle,"  and  the  words  fin- 
ished with  a  pitiful  wail. 

For  a  moment  the  doctor  was  puzzled,  then  he  re- 
membered the  bundle  Joe  had  shown  him  the  day 
before,  and  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  fire-place. 

"  Is  this  it  ? "  holding  up  the  shabby  little  pack- 
age. 

It  was  as  if  a  beam  of  light  had  swept  across  the 
child's  face. 

"  Thet's  it,"  lifting  his  hands  with  sudden  energy  to 


JERRY. ,]  55 

clutch  it,  hiding  it  under  his  pillow, — "  it  aint  noth- 
in'  to  do  no  good,"  he  explained,  looking  up  depre- 
catingly,  "  it  aint  wittles  ;  it  aint  nothin'  youuns 
wants,"  pressing  the  pillow  down  as  securely  as  he 
could,  "  it  aint  nothin',"  still  more  pleadingly. 

"  Very  well,"  the  doctor  answered,  drawing  the  cov- 
ering up  a  little  higher,  "you  shall  keep  it,  you  need 
not  be  afraid  ;  but  go  to  sleep  now,"  then  he  turned 
away  to  his  place  in  the  doorway,  while  the  child, 
with  his  hand  on  the  bundle  under  his  pillow,  went  to 
sleep.  So  the  day  passed  ;  the  doctor  moved  only 
when  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  wait  on  the  child — 
to  cook  his  dinner,  or  to  water  his  horse  ;  he  sat  like 
one  resting  after  a  great  strain  ;  every  muscle  seemed 
relaxed,  and  a  supreme  weariness  that  seemed  other 
than  the  weariness  of  body,  possessed  him.  No 
word,  no  sign  escaped  him  until  toward  the  after- 
noon he  walked  out  to  the  trail  and  stood  looking 
down. 

"  If  God  will  ever  forgive  me,"  he  said  slowly,  then 
for  one  instant  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 
Suddenly  the  sound  of  a  falling  stone  caught  his 
attention  ;  he  looked  up  quickly,  and  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets  stood  waiting  for  Joe. 

"  I  aint  much  late,  is  I,  doctor  ?  "  coming  up  slightly 
blown. 

"  Not  much." 

"An'  the  boy?  " 

"  Better  ;  but  I  will  come  again  to-morrow  ;  give 
him  the  whisky  and  milk  all  night,  and  do  not  take 
away  his  bundle,  he  has  it  under  his  pillow." 

"  All  right,"  and  Joe  took  the  saddle  from  where  it 
had  hung  all  day,  while  the  doctor  went  to  look  at  his 
patient  once  more. 

"  Poor  little  devil,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the 
forehead  of  the  sleeping  child,  "  what  have  I  saved 
you  for,  and  will  you  thank  me  when  all  is  done  ? " 

"  All  right,  doctor  "  Joe  called,  and  taking  the  tin 
bucket,  the  doctor  turned  away. 


56  JERRY. 

"  Every  hour,  Joe,  whisky  or  milk,"  he  repeated, 
"  and  leave  the  bundle  where  it  is." 

Then  the  doctor  rode  away  down  the  mountain  ; 
and  his  face  changed  as  he  went.  All  the  gentleness 
faded  from  it,  and  the  lines  about  the  mouth  grew  set 
and  stern, — his  every-day  face  that  no  one  realized 
was  a  mask. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  The  steadfast  silence  that  holds  peace  for  wrong 
Or  love, — that  keeps  the  smile  on  quivering  lips  ; 
That  holds  the  tears  back  from  the  brave,  sad  eyes  ; 
That  with  a  steady  hand  doth  sod  the  grave 
Of  all  its  hopes,  so  none  may  know  a  grave 
Is  there  ! " 

ALONG,  low,  unpainted,  weather-beaten  frame 
house  standing  a  little  back  from  the  road  that  at 
this  point  turned,  and  became  the  one  street  of 
Burden's.  A  house  without  the  very  smallest 
attempt  at  beauty, — that  fulfilled  but  one  end — a 
shelter. 

The  main  shed,  extending  straight  down  from  the 
apex  of  the  roof,  takes  under  its  protection  a  broad 
piazza,  in  whose  shadowy  depths  the  doors  and 
windows  of  the  house  open. 

The  windows  are  glazed,  which  is  a  luxury  in  the 
town  of  Burden's  ;  but  the  doors  and  blinds  are 
simply  battened,  like  the  rest  of  the  houses. 

Three  chimneys  come  from  the  roof,  one  from  either 
end  and  one  from  the  middle  ;  wonderfully  square 
and  ugly  ;  but  softened  to  the  view  on  this  cool  Sep- 
tember day  by  slender  plumes  of  smoke.  A  thin  rail 
extends  round  the  piazza,  save  where  a  clear  space  is 
left  for  the  steps,  at  the  corner  of  which  stands  a 
hitching-post  for  horses.  The  reddish-brown  soil  of 
the  yard  is  baked  to  the  consistency  of  brick,  rising 
and  falling  in  mimic  ravines  and  hills  as  the  rain  is 
pleased  to  wash  it.  No  sign  of  a  fence, — no  sign  of 
paint  or  whitewash  anywhere,  —  no  vestige  of  any 
attempt  at  flower,  or  shrub,  or  grass  ; — an  ugly,  bar- 
ren, neglected  place. 

In  a  high-backed,  splint-bottomed  rocking-chair, 
57 


5  8  JERRY. 

with  his  feet  on  the  hand-rail  that  goes  about  the 
piazza,  a  boy  sits  reading  ;  delicately  made,  and  fair, 
and  with  a  finish  in  his  dress  and  bearing  that  shows 
familiarity  with  localities  very  different  from  Bur- 
den's. Indeed,  he  looks  entirely  out  of  place  in  this 
rough  environment,  and  seems  perfectly  to  realize  the 
unfitness  of  things. 

Evidently  he  is  very  tired  ;  but  only  of  himself  and 
his  book,  for  no  work  can  ever  have  soiled  his  white 
hands,  nor  hardened  his  delicate  muscles  ;  yet  he 
yawns  and  stretches  very  wearily,  clasping  his  hands 
behind  his  head. 

"  A  beastly  hole,"  he  muttered.  "  I  shall  be  cross- 
eyed if  I  read  any  more,"  but  yet,  for  lack  of  other 
interest  he  takes  up  his  book  again.  The  shapely 
head  bends  forward,  the  long  lashes  shade  the 
girlish  cheeks  where  a  little  flush  has  come  from  the 
exertion  of  the  last  yawn,  and  the  boy  is  beautiful. 
No  other  word  would  describe  him  ;  indeed  one 
would  not  be  tempted  to  fit  any  other  adjective 
to  him. 

And  the  doctor,  riding  up  and  tying  his  horse,  thinks 
how  different  this  face  is  from  the  other  he  left  up  on 
the  mountain-side. 

The  boy  rises. 

"  At  last  !  "  he  says,  coming  forward,  "  I  thought 
you'might  possibly  spend  the  night." 

"  Scarcely  ;  I  waited   only  to  watch  the  case." 

"  And  how  is  the  case  ? "  yawning  again. 

"  Progressing  favorably." 

"Unlike  your  humble  servant,"  turning  to  follow 
the  doctor  indoors. 

The  doctor  paused  to  hang  up  his  saddle-bags  and 
hat,  then  turned  to  look  at  the  boy. 

"  You  look  in  good  case,"  he  said. 

" '  My  face  is  my  fortune,"  "  looking  up  with  a  smile 
that  made  this  same  face  brilliant,  "  but  really,  I  am 
nearly  dead  of  loneliness  :  and  at  noon  a  letter  from 
Mamma  ;  a  letter  a  month  old,  but  telling  of  the  most 


JERRY.      ,  59 

enchanting  things  ;  really,  you  know  !  "  with  an  earn- 
est, regretful  look  in  his  beautiful  eyes. 

The  doctor  listened  quietly,  watching  the  boy's  face 
that  seemed  to  charm  him  against  his  will. 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate,"  he  said  gravely,  then  went 
into  a  fire-lighted  room  where  a  table  was  laid  for  two, 
and  a  servant  in  waiting. 

"  Dinner  at  once,"  he  said,  "  and  a  fire  in  the  study;  " 
then  sitting  down  in  the  great  arm-chair  he  turned  to 
the  boy  who  stood  near  a  window.  "  Is  there  any  news, 
Paul  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothing,  except  no  end  of  balls,  and  lunches, 
and  lovely  art  exhibitions,  and  operas,  and  concerts, 
and  everything  that  can  make  a  fellow  long  to  go 
home  ;  and  I  go  everywhere  with  Mamma,  don't  you 
know  :  I  wish  you  knew  her,"  the  boy  added  slowly. 

"  Yes,"  and  the  doctor  leaned  his  head  back  as  if 
this  precocious  child  worried  him. 

"  Yes,"  Paul  went  on,  drawing  a  letter  from  his 
pocket, — "  and  she  sends  you  a  message." 

The  creamy  paper  rustled  in  the  boy's  hands  ;  a 
faint  perfume  floated  on  the  air,  and  the  words  came 
softly — " '  I  miss  you  more  than  I  can  say,  and  long 
for  you  with  a  longing  that  I  hope  you  may  never 
realize.  Would  it  not  be  possible  to  persuade  your 
guardian  to  come  home  with  you  some  time  this  win- 
ter, so  that  I  can  see  you  ? ' "  pausing  and  looking 
steadfastly  at  the  doctor  ;  but  there  was  no  movement, 
and  he  read  on — " '  Thank  him  for  me  for  all  his  care 
of  you  :  I  know  he  will  do  whatever  is  best  for  you, 
and  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word  make  a  man  of 
you,'  " — the  boy  stopped,  folding  the  letter  slowly. 

"  Thank  you,"  came  coldly  from  the  doctor,  and  he 
passed  his  hands  wearily  over  his  eyes. 

"  Didyou  ever  know  her  ?"  the  boy  asked  hesita- 
tingly, after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  Yes." 

Then  the  dinner  and  lights  came  in,  and  the  con- 
versation ceased. 


60  JERR  V. 

The  meal  was  rather  silent,  and  afterward  the 
evening  in  the  book-lined  study  seemed  rather  cold 
and  still.  The  lessons  went  on  without  much  heart, 
dragging  heavily  ;  with  cold  patience  on  the  doctor's 
part  ;  with  undisguised  weariness  on  the  boy's  part, 
until  the  tasks  were  done. 

"  Now  I  will  fly  back  with  delight  to  my  novel  of 
which  I  was  so  weary,"  and  the  boy  rose  and  stretched 
himself  ;  "  to  think  I  should  be  thankful  to  my  lessons 
for  anything,"  he  went  on,  "to  think  that  I  should 
fall  so  low  that  one  dullness  is  a  boon  because  it  makes 
the  next  dullness  seem  less  dull." 

"  I  am  reading,"  the  doctor  said,  not  looking  up. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  hurriedly,  and  the  boy,  with  the 
color  burning  in  his  cheeks,  subsided  with  his  book 
into  an  arm-chair. 

But  he  did  not  read  ;  instead,  he  watched  furtively 
the  man  before  him,  wondering  what  was  the  point  of 
his  life.  Why  did  he  live  in  this  lonely  fashion  away 
off  in  these  wilds ;  why  study  so  diligently  ;  why 
spend  his  time  and  his  money  on  the  poor  creatures, 
the  scum  of  the  country  who  gathered  out  in  this 
region  ?  Like  to-day,  spending  hours  over  one  little 
waif  who  was  no  earthly  use  to  any  one.  Was  he 
altogether  right  in  his  mind  ?  He  must  be,  Paul  con- 
cluded, for  he  remembered  quite  distinctly  his  father's 
dying  words  about  him, — '  I  give  him  Paul  as  uncon- 
ditionally as  such  a  thing  can  be  done,  and  charge  him 
to  be  all  to  him  that  he  would  be  to  his  own  son.' 
Paul  remembered  it  all  quite  distinctly,  and  the  last  talk 
his  father  had  given  him.  After  that  the  long  months 
when  his  mother  pleaded  not  to  give  him  up, — the 
lawyer's  protest,  and  the  letters  from  this  guardian 
that  had  made  his  mother  so  ill  :  then  his  journey  to 
this  far  western  region,  his  reception,  and  wonder  at 
his  surroundings.  It  was  very  strange  ;  and  with  all 
his  precocious,  shallow  knowledge  of  the  world,  he 
could  make  nothing  of  these  facts  that  met  him  on 
every  hand. 


JERRY.  6 1 

Now  he  found  that  there  had  been  some  acquaint- 
ance between  his  mother  and  his  guardian  :  a  new 
piece  of  knowledge  that  deserved  much  thought. 
Why  not  ask  about  this  new  puzzle  ?  Why  not,  in- 
deed !  After  that  last  snub  he  would  rather  put  his 
hand  in  the  fire  than  say  a  word.  No  really  harsh 
word  had  ever  been  said  to  him  by  this  man,  yet  Paul 
would  sooner  have  attempted  to  strike  him,  than  posi- 
tively to  disregard  one  wish  of  his.  He  shirked  his 
duty  sometimes  when  in  a  particularly  rebellious 
frame  of  mind,  and  when  his  guardian  was  not  at 
hand  to  look  him  over  after  a  cool,  calm  way  he  had. 
Sometimes  he  longed  to  see  him  angry,  to  hear  him 
curse  and  swear  and  storm  as  he  had  heard  other  men 
do  ;  he  thought  it  would  be  almost  refreshing.  This 
intense  calm, — this  controlled  stillness  that  nothing 
seemed  to  disturb,  was  frightfully  monotonous,  and 
the  man  must  surely  be  devoid  of  feeling.  And 
yet  he  helped  all  the  poor  and  sick,  and  got  no  pay 
for  it  :  certainly  a  strange  man. 

And  this  strange  man  sat  in  the  brilliant  circle  of 
lamplight  reading  on  and  on  ;  turning  page  after  page 
as  if  nothing  existed  for  him  save  that  book.  All 
day  long  he  had  been  resting  with  no  eye  to  scan  his 
features, — no  keen  curiosity  to  probe  his  self-control  : 
— all  day  he  had  been  resting  with  only  the  wild 
creatures  about  him. 

So  they  sat  until  the  word  came  of  a  miner  who 
had  fallen  and  injured  himself ;  then  the  doctor 
closed  his  book  and  ordered  his  horse,  and  telling 
the  boy  not  to  wait  for  him,  rode  away  in  the 
darkness  to  spend  the  hours  of  the  night  among 
the  lowest  of  mankind, — watching  the  death-struggles 
of  the  strong, — the  misery  and  desolation  of  the 
weak. 

Aye,  what  did  life  seem  to  him  ; — what  use  in  all  its 
toil  and  striving  ; — what  comfort  for  all  its  sorrow  and 
suffering? 

As  well  as  he  could   he  eased  the  agony  of  body, 


62  JERRY. 

and  comforted  the  heart, — for  he  knelt  and  prayed 
for  the  passing  soul, — this  strange  man  whose  life  had 
no  visible  point. 

And  riding  homeward  in  the  wild  dawn  he  whis- 
pered once  again  •  • 

"If  God  will  ever  forgive  me!" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"And  with  no  language  but  a  cry." 

JERRY  sat  in  the  low  doorway  very  much  as  he 
had  done  on  the  spring  morning  before  he  left  his 
home,  with  the  sun  shining  all  about  him,  finding 
out  all  the  hollows  in  his  small  face,  and  showing  the 
grave  eyes  grown  larger  and  more  wistful.  His  hopes 
had  all  failed  him  ;  the  only  object  he  had  ever  had 
was  seemingly  an  illusion  ;  a  blankness  had  come 
to  him  that  was  strange  and  unaccountable,  and  he 
realized  thoroughly  but  one  thing — that  he  was  sorry 
he  had  ever  wakened  from  his  sleep  on  the  trail.  He 
felt  more  lonely  now  that  there  was  nothing  to  remind 
him  of  his  past  save  his  little  bundle.  His  clothes 
were  all  new  and  warm  ;  Joe  had  brought  them  from 
Eureka,  whatever  or  wherever  that  might  be.  Red 
flannel  shirts  and  thick  trousers,  and  a  thing  Jerry 
had  never  known  before  in  his  short  life, — a  pair  of 
boots !  In  his  recollection  his  father  had  possessed 
one  pair ;  but  further  than  that  he  did  not  know 
boots.  Now  he  sat  in  the  sunshine,  thinking  as  far  as 
his  half-awakened  faculties  could  think.  Heretofore 
his  life  had  been  but  a  dull  routine,  never  reaching 
beyond  the  old  rail-fence,  of  helping  his  mother  with 
the  scant  crop,  or  picking  berries  that  his  father  took 
away  to  "  peddle," — which  meant  to  Jerry  that  his 
father  would  return  with  a  small  store  of  provisions, 
but  always  whisky.  So  his  life  had  passed  in  igno- 
rance and  silence,  with  pain  and  hunger  for  variety. 
With  his  mother's  disappearance  came  the  first  change 
and  excitement.  She  had  talked  to  him  of  the 
"  Golding  Gates,"  and  then  for  the  first  time  he  had 
heard  that  there  were  such  things  as  peace  and 

63 


64  JERK  Y. 

plenty.  After  that  his  journey — the  excitement — the 
failure — the  long  sleep  and  slow  awakening  to  kind- 
ness and  rest,  and  this  strange  blankness  for  which  he 
could  not  account,  for  he  knew  his  life  was  more  full 
than  ever  before. 

He  sat  in  the  sunshine,  slowly  revolving  the  reasons 
of  things  as  far  as  he  knew  them,  and  gradually  com- 
ing to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  missed  the  "  Gates," 
because  he  had  not  his  mother  with  him,  and  added 
to  this  was  the  hopelessness  of  ever  being  able  to  re- 
turn and  undo  the  evil  done  to  his  mother.  He  leaned 
against  the  door-post  sorrowfully.  "  I  can't  never 
git  back/'  he  muttered,  "Joe  'Hows  as  he  dunno  how 
I  made  out  to  git  here  ;  cause  he  'Hows  I  muster  come 
from  whar  he  come  from,  'cause  I  talks  like  all  his'ns 
folks  :  an'  ther  big  water, — I'm  fearder  that,  sure  !  " 
He  would  not  continue  his  wanderings,  for  he  had  no 
hope  now,  and  one  place  was  as  good  as  another.  Joe 
never  beat  him — Joe  gave  him  food  and  clothes. 
There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  stay  where  he  was  ; 
mind  the  house  by  day  while  Joe  was  gone  ;  cut  wood 
down  among  the  pines,  and  have  the  supper  cooked 
when  Joe  came  home  :  tlys  was  the  routine.  "  If  I 
only  hed  Mammy,"  he  would  whisper  in  the  long, 
silent  days,  turning  his  bundle  over  in  his  hands.  But 
when  Joe  came  home  at  night  the  fire  was  always 
burning,  the  supper  ready,  and  the  little  face  watch- 
ing for  him.  And  Joe  felt  he  had  done  a  good  thing 
in  taking  in  the  little  waif. 

"  He's  sumpen  ter  say  '  hardy  '  to  when  I  gits  home 
of  evenin's,"  he  said  to  the  doctor  as  if  to  excuse  his 
weakness  ;  and  long  before  there  was  any  hope  of 
seeing  his  house,  Joe  would  look  up  the  trail  to  try  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  open  door  and  the  little  figure 
showing  black  against  the  firelight. 

And  when  supper  was  dispatched,  and  the  house 
closed  for  the  night,  it  was  something  pleasant  to 
feel  that  if  he  put  down  his  pipe  and  asked  a  question 
there  was  a  voice  to  answer  him. 


JERRY.  65 

He  often  wondered  over  the  child,  and  occasionally 
put  a  question  to  him  ;  but  the  doctor  had  said  to 
wait  until  the  child  was  quite  strong  before  he  took 
his  mind  back  to  the  things  that  had  caused  his  ill- 
ness. So  Joe  waited  until  one  night,  when  the  crisis 
was  reached  unintentionally. 

Joe  had  sat  silent  for  a  long  time,  when,  putting 
down  his  pipe  and  looking  solemnly  into  the  fire,  he 
said  : 

"  To-morrer  pore  'Lije  Milton  is  agoin'  to  be  buried, 
Jerry,  an'  you  kin  go  alonger  me  if  you  hes  a  mind 
thet  way.  'Lije  an'  hisn  woman  come  from  home, 
too." 

Jerry,  squatting  by  the  fire,  was  silent  for  several 
minutes,  then  looked  up  slowly. 

"  Buried?"  he  said. 

Joe  looked  at  the  child  in  astonishment. 

"  Well  I  reckon  thet's  what  I  said  ;  buried,"  he 
repeated. 

"What's  thet?"  very  simply. 

"  My  soul,  boy  !  "  in  absolute  wonder,  "  why,  pore 
'Lije  is  dead,  dead  as  a  cole  stone,  an'  weuns  is  agoin' 
to  bury  him.  Aint  you  never  been  to  a  buryin'  ?" 

"  I  dunno,"  hesitatingly. 

"Aint you  never  seen  nothin'  die?" 

"  I  dunno,"  with  a  tone  of  humility  added  to  the 
ignorance. 

"  Aint  you- never  broke  a  chicken's  neck  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  hev  sawn  it  done,"  somewhat  of  confi- 
dence coming  again  into  his  voice. 

"  Well,  when  its  neck's  broke,  an'  it's  a-lyin'  thar  rale 
still—" 

"  But  it  don't,"  Jerry  interrupted  quickly,  "  it  hops 
around  powerful,  it  do,  jest  all  over  ever'thing." 

"  Thet's  true,"  Joe  acknowledged,  seeing  the  weak- 
ness of  his  simile,  but  at  a  loss  for  a  better,  until  after 
a  little  thought  he  looked  up  slowly,  "  but  it  do  git 
rale  quiet  afterwards." 

"  Thet's  so,"  Jerry  allowed  in  his  turn. 


66  JERR  Y. 

"An"  cole,  an'  stiff,"  Joe  went  on,  with  superiority 
growing  in  his  voice. 

"  It  do,"  looking  up. 

"  Well,  then  it's  dead  :  it  can't  crow  no  mo',  an*  if 
it's  a  hen  it  can't  cluck  no  mo'  to  its  chickens  ;  it 
can't  eat  ner  nothin',  an'  it's  dead,"  solemnly. 

Jerry  made  no  response,  his  little  mind  was  far  too 
busy,  was  groping  too  earnestly  for  him  to  make  any 
sound  ;  and  Joe  went  on  : 

"An'  thet's  what's  come  to  pore  'Lije  Miller;  he's 
dead,  plum  dead  :  he  can't  eat,  ner  talk,  ner  do  noth- 
in'; he  jest  lies  thar  stiff  an'  cole,  an'  youuns  kin  call 
him  furever  !  Pore  Mis.  Miller  were  jest  a-howlin', 
but  'Lije  never  knowed  it." 

"An' what's  buryin'?"  Jerry  asked  again  in  the 
silence  that  followed  Joe's  words. 

Again  Joe  looked  the  child  over  from  head  to  heels, 
as  a  naturalist  would  scan  a  totally  new  and  unex- 
pected development  in  some  well-known  species. 
This  ignorance  was  something  entirely  beyond  his 
experience, — any  extreme  being  beyond  him, — and 
he  scarcely  knew  how  to  account  for  it ;  but  with 
exemplary  patience  he  tried  to  make  it  clear  to  the 
child. 

"  When  folkses  is  dead,"  he  began  slowly,  "  we  digs 
a  hole  an'  puts  'em  in,  an'  kivvers  'em  good." 

The  child's  eyes  grew  wider  as  he  listened,  and  he 
fastened  them  on  the  speaker  with  an  intensity  that 
made  Joe  halt  a  little  in  his  speech. 

"  They're  'bleeged  to  do  it,"  he  explained  hastily, 
as  if  the  child  had  condemned  the  practice. 

"  An'  puts  rails  'round  it,  an'  bresh  on  top  ? "  the 
little,  anxious  voice  questioned. 

Joe  was  puzzled  for  a  moment,  but  he  answered 
bravely,  nevertheless  : 

"Sometimes  they  do  when  critters  air  roun';  they 
purtects  'em  thet  away." 

"  An'  can't  theyuns  never  git  up  no  mo'  ?  "  with  his 
pitiful  eyes  still  on  the  man's  face. 


JERRY.  67 

Joe  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  fur  a  long  spell,"  he  said,  "  an*  I  aint  rale 
sartain  sure  'bout  thet :  but  some  preachers  b'lieves 
it,  an'  calls  it  the  'jedgment  day,'  an'  says  as  all  folks 
as  is  dead  gits  up  then  :  gits  up  a-singin'  an'  a-shout- 
in'  to  march  to  the  '  Promis'-lan','  whar  thar  aint  no 
mo'  sickness,  ner  nothiu'  bad.  My  Nancy  Ann's 
gone, — gone  in  at  the  '  Pearly  Gates' !  " 

"'Golding  Gates',1' the  child  interrupted  eagerly, 
"the  'Golding  Gates,'  Mammy  'llowed  she  were 
agoin'  thar,  her  did." 

Joe  looked  at  the  child  earnestly. 

"  Is  youun's  mammy  dead  ?"  he  asked,  too  curious 
to  remember  the  doctor's  injunctions. 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  I  dunno,"  he  answered,  and  all  the  light  died  out 
of  his  eyes,  "I  dunno  ;  1  dunrio  nothin' !  "  covering 
his  face  with  his  hands.  "  Mammy's  goned  away,  an' 
I  piled  bresh  on  her,  I  did,"  the  burden  of  his  remorse 
breaking  out  in  a  wail,  "  an'  some  blossoms  ;  but  I 
never  knowed — I  never  knowed  !  "  rocking  back  and 
forth  with  the  pitiful  refrain  coming  almost  hyster- 
ically from  his  lips, — "  I  never  knowed,  I  never 
knowed  !  " 

Joe  was  startled,  for  he  remembered  the  days  when 
this  cry  never  faltered  until  the  voice  was  too  weak 
to  cry.  Was  the  child  becoming  ill  again  ?  And  in 
his  anxiety  he  remembered  the  doctor's  quieting 
words. 

"  It's  all  right,  Jerry,"  he  said  gently,  "  you  done 
all  right :  ax  the  doctor  when  you  sees  him,  he 
knows." 

The  pitiful  cry  died  away  and  the  rocking  ceased 
as  Joe  went  on  : 

"  If  youuns  Par  buried  her — " 

"  The  woman  in  the  valley  named  it  '  olantin' '  of 
her,"  the  child  put  in  wearily. 

"Well,"  Joe  granted,  "some  folks  do  name  it 
plantin',  but  I  don't  'How  as  I  like  it;  it  soun's  like 


68  JERR  Y. 

weuns  wustatersor  corn,  so  I  says  buried,  I  do:  an'  if 
youuns'  Par  buried  youuns'  Mar,  her  muster  been  dead, 
sure  ;  an'  if  you  piled  rails  an'  bresh  roun*  her,  you 
done  jest  right ;  you  purtected  her,  you  did." 

Jerry  leaned  against  the  chimney,  silent ;  his  re- 
morse was  being  stilled,  but  his  hopelessness  was  in- 
creasing with  every  word  Joe  uttered.  He  would  never 
see  his  mother  again  unless  what  Joe  only  half  believed 
should  turn  out  true  ; — the  "  Jedgment  day,"  when  all 
the  dead  should  rise  ;  and  he  looked  up  asking  : 

"  An'  when'll  it  come  ? " 

"  What  ?  "  in  some  anxiety  lest  his  stock  of  learning 
should  be  exhausted. 

"  The  day  when  all  the  folks  gits  up  ?  " 

"  Thar  aint  no  man  as  knows,"  Joe  answered  with 
reassured  solemnity,  "  the  doctor  told  my  Nancy  Ann 
as  nobody  knowed  ;  he  said  the  horn  'ud  blow  an'  all 
'ud  rise  :  but  some  folks  don't  b'lieve  it  ;  pore  'Lije 
Milton  never  b'lieved  it,  'cause  he  'llowed  he'd  ruther 
never  git  up  no  mo'  ;  he  'llowed  he'd  done  lived  in  a 
mine  as  is  a  hole  in  the  groun',  and  he'd  jest  as  lieve 
stay  thar;"  then  rousing  as  from  a  meditation  he 
turned  to  the  child,  "  but  you  done  right,  Jerry,  an' 
youuns  pore  Mar  is  a-restin'  mighty  easy,  I  reckon, 
an*  you  kin  rest  easy  too,"  with  which  grain  of 
comfort  the  child  went  away  to  his  bed  in  the  corner; 
and  Joe,  feeling  troubled  about  him,  determined  to  tell 
the  doctor  of  his  perplexity,  and  ask  his  advice.  He 
had  done  his  best,  but  he  was  dimly  conscious  that 
his  knowledge  had  run  short  under  the  child's  ques- 
tioning, and  any  further  probings  from  this  quarter 
would  put  him  where  he  would  have  nothing  to  say. 
Besides,  he  was  in  some  doubt  as  to  the  soundness  of 
the  child's  mind  ;  such  dense  ignorance  puzzled  sorely 
his  own  half-knowledge.  He  could  not  comprehend 
this  extreme  any  more  than  he  could  realize  the  other, 
and  he  felt  obliged  to  appeal  to  a  higher  power. 

He  would  ask  the  doctor  the  next  day,  for  of  course 
the  doctor  would  be  at  'Lije's  funeral. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"  Death  encleth  all  : 

And  then  ? 

The  tears  are  dried — The  dim  hope  fled, 
Love  lieth  still,  and  cold,  and  dead — 
Death  endeth  all  : 
And  then  ? 

A  DIM,  gray  day  with  the  clouds  drifting  so  low  that 
they  hid  the  tops  of  the  mountains,  and  hung  far 
down  the  sides  like  ragged  curtains.     No  rain  was 
falling,  and  the  wind  was  still  save  now  and  then  it  rose 
in  sudden  gusts  that  tore  the  clouds  to  pieces. 

Joe  and  Jerry  set  out  on  their  way  at  an  early  hour, 
as  the  distance  was  not  short,  and  the  occasion  one 
that  demanded  the  respect  of  long  and  solemn  waiting, 
especially  from  Joe,  who  had  the  honor  of  having 
come  from  the  same  county  in  Tennessee  as  'Lije 
Milton.  Many  in  the  colony  had  come  from  neigh- 
boring States  and  counties,  but  Joe  alone  had  come 
from  the  same  place. 

They  had  beaten  their  clothes  clear  of  dust;  had 
greased  their  boots,  and  scrubbed  their  faces  and 
heads  until  the  skin  shone,  and  the  hair  lay  as 
sleek  as  wax.  But  it  was  a  great  day  in  Burden's 
and  one  that  required  these  rites  and  ceremonies. 
'Lije  Milton  was  a  miner  of  high  degree  ;  indeed, 
a  mine  owner,  and  not  only  this,  but  one  who  had 
dared  to  go  so  far  as  to  doubt  the  doctor's  doc- 
trine of  a  hereafter  :  one  who  had  actually  argued  this 
point  with  the  doctor,  but  who  still  loved  the  doctor, 
and  had  more  than  once  declared  his  intention  of 
knocking  down  any  one  who  agreed  with  him  in  his 
opinions  against  the  doctor.  He  could  not  second 

69 


7°  JERRY. 

the  doctor  in  his  views,  but  no  one  else  should  dare  to 
take  such  a  stand  while  "  'Lije  Milton  hed  a  fist  !  " 

And  'Lije  was  held  in  most  profound  respect :  he 
had  killed  a  "  grisly  "  with  a  jack-knife, — he  had 
knocked  down  a  mule  with  his  fist, — he  had  discov- 
ered the  new  mine, — he  had  scalped  more  Indians  than 
any  one  else  had  ever  seen, — he  had  been  to  more 
places,  even  to  the  end  of  the  old  mine  where  every- 
body knew  he  would  have  to  meet  old  Burden's  ghost 
that  lived  there  in  peace  and  plenty. 

All  these  things  'Lije  had  done:  and  all  these  things 
Joe  poured  into  Jerry's  ears,  adding  a  full  description 
of  the  awful  terror  of  the  black  depths  in  "  Burden's 
mine,"  where  'Lije  had  met  and  conquered  the  wander- 
ing spirit  of  the  ancient  possessor. 

"  Thar's  water  in  thar  thet  never  quits  a-drappin'," 
Joe  went  on, "  an'  'Lije  kep'  on  a-hearin'  it,  an'  a-hearin' 
it  'tell  it  jest  wore  him  plum  out,  an'  he  'llowed  he'd 
go  in  thar  an  see  'bout  it,  an'  he  did,"  pausing 
solemnly,  "you  bet  he  did;  an'  he  were  gone  two 
days,  he  were  ;  an'  I  tells  you,  Jerry,"  drawing  a 
long  breath  that  seemed  to  catch  a  little,  "  'Lije 
wornt  never  the  same  man  sence;  never,  sure'syouuns 
is  born,"  stopping  to  put  a  fresh  piece  of  tobacco  in  his 
mouth,  "  an'  he  never  tole  nobody  what  it  was  he 
sawn  in  thar,  ceppen  thet  he  hearn  things  a-cryin',  an* 
the  water  allers  a-drappin':  but  he  'llowed  as  ole  Bur- 
den'd  never  pester  him  no  mo' ;  an'  now  'Lije  is  gone, 
an'  aint  no  better  man  'an  old  Burden." 

"Were  ole  Burden  buried  ?  "  Jerry  asked,  his  mind 
occupied  with  these  rites  he  did  not  understand. 

Joe  shook  his  head. 

"I  aint  plum  sure,"  he  said,  "fur  ole  Burden  were 
dead  an'  gone  'fore  ever  I  come  out  to  this  place  ; 
but  I  hearn  as  he  never  wus  !  He  tumbled  off  some 
rale  deep  hole  in  the  mine,  an'  nobody  never  knowed 
rightly  whar  it  were  ;  but  nobody  couldn't  git  no  mo* 
men  to  work  in  Burden's  mine."  Then  more  medi- 
tatively, "  I  aint  never  worked  none  in  thar,  but  they 


JERR  Y.  71 

do  say  as  thar's  mo*  gole  in  Burden's  mine  'an  any 
man  kin  dig,  they  do." 

"  Gole  ?  "  the  child  asked. 

Joe  turned  back  in  the  narrow  path  to  look  down 
on  him. 

"  My  Lord  !  boy,  aint  you  got  nary  idee  ?  "  he  said, 
"  aint  you  never  seed  no  gole  ?  " 

Jerry  shook  his  head,  leaning  humbly  against  an 
adjacent  rock. 

"I  dunno  nothin',"  he  answered  wearily. 

"  Aint  you  never  seed  no  money  ?  " 

And  again  Jerry  shook  his  head.  Joe  was  in 
despair  almost ;  the  child  surely  must  be  wrong  in 
his  mind. 

"  Well,  Jerry,"  compassionately,  "  I  mus'  'How  as 
you  is  a  most  onknowin'  creetur  :  well,  jest  listen  ; 
money  jest  means  ever'  blessed  thing  an'  creetur," 
taking  his  hands  out  of  his  pockets  to  emphasize  his 
words, — "  money  means  mules,  an'  powder,  an'  shot, 
an'  a  house,  an'  ever'  kinder  truck  ;  money  means 
wittles,  an'  clothes,  an'  boots,  an'  hats  ;  money  means 
you  is  too  good  to  do  nothin';  money  means  ter- 
backy,  an'  segyars,  an'  whisky, — " 

"  Dad  hed  whisky  all  the  time,"  the  boy  inter- 
rupted quickly. 

"  Then  youuns  Par  hed  money,"  Joe  finished  con- 
clusively, "  an'  money  air  made  outer  gole,  an'  gole 
air  yaller  an'  shines  ;  an'  gole  jest  lays  roun'  loose  in 
Burden's  mine  ! " 

"An' gole  makes  the  '  Golding  Gates'?"  the  child 
queried  deprecatingly  as  Joe  was  about  to  proceed  on 
his  way.  . 

"  You  bet  it  do,"  he  answered,  "  'cause  the  preach- 
ers says  thar's  riches  thar  as  never  fails, — never  !  " 
and  again  turning  from  the  child  he  walked  on. 

Down,  down,  down  to  the  funeral  of  this  hero  who 
had  passed  by  the  shining  treasures  of  Burden's  mine 
in  order  to  do  battle  with  Burden's  ghost ;  but  who 
had,  nevertheless,  come  back  a  changed  man. 


7 2  JERRY. 

Jerry  listened  and  wondered,  if  the  confusion  of 
ideas  in  his  mind  could  be  called  wonder.  His  pure 
and  simple  conception  of  the  "  Golding  Gates  "  had 
become  inextricably  mixed  with  his  father  and  the 
money  that  bought  whisky  !  Could  it  be  the  same 
gold  ? 

His  judgment  wavered  for  a  time  ;  but  before  he 
reached  'Lije  Milton's  it  had  settled  to  the  conviction 
that  the  gold  that  bought  whisky,  and  so  represented 
his  father  and  all  his  misery,  could  not  be  the  same 
thing  that  made  the  entrance  to  the  wonderful  land 
of  which  his  mother  had  told  him, — the  land  where 
he  must  meet  her.  "  Mammy'd  never  go  no  whars  as 
thar  wus  whisky,"  he  whispered  to  himself, — "  never, 
sure's  I'm  alive."  Still  this  conclusion  did  not  change 
the  mystery  :  did  some  people  like  beatings  and  hun- 
ger, and  so  go  to  a  place  where  all  was  gold,  and  so 
all  was  whisky  ?  'Lije  Milton  was  right ;  leave  the 
gold,  if  gold  meant  whisky. 

Yet  there  was  something  strange  about  it  all  ;  Joe 
seemed  to  set  great  store  by  gold,  but  not  by  whisky, 
for  he  never  got  drunk. 

And  Jerry  was  at  a  loss. 

"  I'll  ax  the  doctor,"  he  said  softly  to  himself, — 
"  Joe  says  as  he  kin  jest  tell  about  ever'thing — I'll 
ax  him,"  and  he  followed  silently  down  the  steep 
way. 

The  clouds  came  lower  and  lower  over  the  rough 
land  that  was  torn  and  rent  in  every  direction  by 
hands  hungry  for  gold, — the  rough,  red  land  so  dark 
and  unlovely  ;  with  no  exquisite  coloring  ;  no  beau- 
tiful fresh  greenness  ;  no  gorgeous  autumn  staining, — 
poor,  hard,  rock-broken  land. 

But  humanity  did  not  seem  to  miss  the  soft  loveli- 
ness that  had  spread  about  their  paths  in  the  far 
East ;  they  did  not  ever  think  of  the  wind  that  sobbed 
among  the  black  pines  and  crept  down  the  lonely 
gorges  as  the  same  wind  that  swept  across  the  green 
hills  far  away  beyond  the  Mississippi.  A  little  child 


JERR  Y.  73 

listened  to  it  because  it  sounded  "like  Mammy  a-sing- 
in'  ";  but  that  was  all. 

The  people  had  come  only  for  gold,  and  what  use 
in  listening  to  the  wind,  even  if  it  did  come  from 
their  old  homes.  All  was  equal  out  here  in  the  West, 
and  money  was  made  more  easily.  In  the  East  it 
had  been  long  toil  and  little  pay  ;  riches  and  luxury 
were  all  about  them  to  be  envied  and  longed  for,  but 
not  to  be  won  by  them.  What  folly  to  listen  to  the 
wind, — what  folly  to  think  of  their  old  homes  where 
their  fathers  had  been  content ;  the  old  men  and 
women  making  their  living  so  hardly, — the  old  graves 
where  so  many  had  laid  them  down  in  weariness  and 
hope.  It  had  done  very  well  for  the  old  who  had 
been  content  to  see  others  above  them  ;  but  in  this 
new  West  things  were  very  different. 

The  wind  was  whispering  very  low  to-day — and 
Jerry  listened  almost  unconsciously  :  in  his  own  home 
the  clouds  and  wind  came  down  just  as  they  did  here, 
and  he  felt  less  lonely  when  they  closed  about  him, 
as  he  followed  Joe  in  puzzled  silence. 

At  last  'Lije  Milton's  house  was  reached:  a  frame 
house  with  an  upper  story,  which,  being  the  only  one 
in  Durden's,  had  caused  much  talk  at  the  time  of 
building.  But  'Lije's  wife,  who  had  come  out  later 
than  he,  had  mad-e  him  build  this  addition  which  his 
friends  had  criticised  quietly.  Criticised  because  they 
were  friends, — and  quietly  because  'Lije  was  not  over 
scrupulous  about  either  words  or  blows. 

There  were  curtains  at  the  glazed  windows,  and  a 
fence  about  the  front  yard,  which  last  was  more  than 
even  the  doctor's  house  could  boast:  more  than  this, 
there  was  a  horse-rack  in  front  of  the  gate  for  the  con- 
venience of  any  one  stopping  either  at  'Lije's,  or  at 
any  other  house  in  the  settlement. 

Inside,  all  was  in  solemn  order:  a  large  fire  burned 
in  the  broad  fireplace  of  the  best  room;  on  the  walls 
were  frightful  prints  ;  a  gorgeously  painted  clock 
ticked  on  the  mantel-piece,  flanked  by  two  brilliant 


74  JERRY. 

china  vases;  the  bedstead  in  the  corner  boasted  a 
feather-bed,  a  rare  and  costly  thing  in  Burden's,  and 
was  covered  by  a  patchwork  quilt  that  would  have 
defied  any  rainbow  to  a  contest  of  colors.  A  rug  of 
fringed  woolen  rags  was  on  the  floor  in  front  of  the 
hearth,  and  on  the  backs  of  the  three  cane-seated 
rocking-chairs  were  tidies  of  wonderful  workmanship. 
Rows  of  medicine  bottles  stood  on  a  table  in  one 
corner  to  show  that  no  money  had  been  spared  in 
'Lije's  illness;  and  around  this  gorgeous  apartment, — 
for  it  was  gorgeous  and  luxurious  for  Burden's,  and 
Mrs.  Milton  saw  with  much  pride  that  all  were  awed 
by  it, — were  placed  benches  and  chairs  for  the  accom- 
modation of  friends.  They  were  pretty  well  filled  now, 
and  had  been  so  for  hours,  by  rows  of  women  and 
children,  with  their  long  bonnets  either  pushed  back 
from  their  heads,  or  held  in  their  hands. 

Near  the  fire,  rocking  slowly  in  the  largest  of  the 
rocking-chairs,  backed  by  the  gaudiest  tidy,  sat  the 
widow.  Her  straight,  sandy  hair  was  screwed  into  a 
tight  knot  at  the  back  of  her  head;  her  dress  made  of 
curtain  chintz  was  gorgeous  in  palm  leaves  a  foot 
long,  buttoned  in  front  with  large  white  china  buttons, 
also  a  rare  article  in  Burden's. 

"  'Lije  never  grudged  her  nothin',  you  bet !  "  and 
all  the  women  moved  their  heads  mournfully.  "  'Lije 
never  grudged  nothin',  thet  was  sure,"  they  said,  then 
looked  to  where,  on  two  rough  carpenters'  benches, 
rested  the  painted  deal  coffin,  and  in  it  all  that  re- 
mained of  the  hero  of  Burden's. 

A  powerfully  made  giant,  now  lying  in  unwonted 
quiet  and  unnatural  neatness,  arrayed  in  a  suit  of 
"  sto'  clothes  "  that  proved  more  than  anything  the 
great  wealth  and  importance  of  the  man,  and  the 
calm  disregard  his  widow  had  for  money.  "  Thar  aint 
nothin'  mean  'bout  me,"  she  had  said,  "an'  'Lije  shell 
be  buried  in  the  best  clothes  thar  is  in  Burden's,  an' 
them  is  his  own  sto'  clothes,"  and  all  the  settlement 
agreed  with  her,  and  looked  with  much  just  pride 


JERRY.  75 

into  the  eyes  of  the  people  who  had  come  over  from 
Eureka  to  the  funeral. 

Outside  a  group  of  men  stood  about  the  door 
and  lounged  against  the  fence  ;  and  inside,  through 
an  open  door  another  group  of  men  could  be  seen  in 
the  kitchen,  where  refreshments  were  being  served  by 
two  or  three  women. 

All  had  been  in  and  out  more  than  once,  for  it  was 
not  often  that  corn-bread  and  bacon,  and  whisky 
and  coffee  were  to  be  had  without  stint,  and  had  with 
the  choice  either  of  "  long  "  or  "  short  sweetenin*  "  ! 
But  "there  warnt  nothin'  mean  'bout  Mis.  Milton." 

No  one  went  in  as  if  they  specially  needed  or 
desired  the  food  and  drink,  but  with  an  air  of  accom- 
modation, as  if  they  took  it  only  to  please  their  hostess 
and  their  dead  friend. 

So  it  all  was  when  Joe  and  Jerry  arrived  :  it  took  a 
little  time  to  make  their  way  through  the  group  in  the 
front  yard,  for  every  one  had  some  word  to  say  to  Joe 
about  the  boy.  Gossip  and  news  spread  even  in  that 
wild  country,  and  everybody  knew  that  Joe  Gilliam 
had  found  a  boy  and  had  taken  him  in  ;  but  more 
than  this  Joe  scarcely  knew  himself.  That  the  boy's 
name  was  Jerry, — that  his  mother  was  dead, — that  he 
had  run  away  from  home  and  would  have  died  in  the 
attempt  but  for  Joe, — was  all  that  Joe  knew,  except 
that  the  boy  was  hopelessly  ignorant, — might  be  con- 
sidered even  a  little  off  in  his  mind.  But  Joe  let 
none  of  this  appear  in  his  talk. 

"  Is  thet  your  boy,  Joe  ?"  they  asked. 

"  Thet's  ther  boy,"  looking  down  on  Jerry,  standing 
beside  him  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"  Where'd  ye'  find  him  ?  " 

"  A-comin'  down  Blake's  trail." 

"  He  looks  mighty  skimpy." 

"  He  do,"  Joe  acknowledged  ;  then  a  silence  fell, 
during  which  all  the  group  was  occupied  in  looking 
Jerry  well  over,  and  no  sound  could  be  heard  save  the 
chewing  and  spitting  of  tobacco.  This  was  the  way 


76  JERRY. 

of  their  kind,  and  Jerry,  seeming  to  understand  it,  was 
silent  under  the  scrutiny.  Then  Joe  turned  away 
toward  the  house,  and  Jerry  followed  him. 

"  Tuck  off  youuns  hat,"  Joe  whispered  as  they  en- 
tered, and  the  child  obeyed. 

'  All  around  the  room  his  eyes  wandered  ;  over  the 
rows  of  ugly,  work-worn,  stolid-looking  women, — 
wearing  on  their  faces  and  in  their  eyes  a  sort  of  un- 
questioning stoicism.  They  knew  all  that  life  could 
possibly  hold  for  them  ;  they  had  solved,  as  far  as 
they  could  hope  to  solve  or  as  far  as  they  had  realized 
them,  all  the  mysteries  of  their  days  :  they  knew  no 
higher  desire  than  the  bare  necessities  of  food  and 
clothing  ;  their  hopes  were  bounded  by  their  actual 
wants  ; — their  sorrows,  their  joys,  their  pains  and 
pleasures  were  borne  without  any  outcry  ;  nothing  but 
their  fatalistic  stoicism  possessed  any  intensity  for 
them,  and  from  that  they  were  seldom  shaken. 

A  birth,  a  death,  a  beating  came  naturally  into  the 
day's  work,  and  passed  by  with  little  comment. 

Jerry  looked  about  him  now  without  any  under- 
standing of  what  this  gathering  meant.  Lije  Milton 
was  dead,  Joe  had  told  him,  and  they  had  come  to  see 
him  buried,  or  planted,  whichever  name  one  preferred 
using  :  and  Jerry  had  come  to  see,  and  to  judge  and 
condemn,  or  exonerate  his  father  :  to  satisfy  himself 
as  to  his  own  action  in  piling  the  brush  on  his  moth- 
er's grave,  and  then  in  deserting  her.  It  was  a  thing 
of  momentous  importance  to  him,  for  either  it  would 
settle  forever  on  his  life  the  burden  of  remorse  and 
pain  ;  or  it  would  prove  to  him  that  the  burying.of  his 
mother  was  an  absolute  necessity,  so  leaving  him  no 
hope  but  the  day  of  Resurrection,  which  Joe  seemed 
to  hold  as  very  questionable. 

It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  burying  of  his 
mother,  right  or  wrong,  would  have  deprived  her  of 
life,  and  so  have  exonerated  him  from  all  ill-doing  : 
he  felt  only  that  either  his  father  had  buried  her  to 
keep  her  from  running  away  to  the  "  Golding  Gates," 


JERRY.  77 

or  that  she  was  really  dead,  and  there  was  nothing  in 
the  future  but  the  "  Jedgment  day." 

Next  to  the  long  white  box  which  Joe  was  now  ap- 
proaching, Jerry  was  the  center  of  attraction,  for  all 
were  curious  to  see  Joe  Gilliam's  boy. 

Fortunately  for  Jerry  the  curiosity  of  this  class  was 
not  demonstrative :  a  fact  satisfied  them,  and  Jerry 
standing  among  them  proved  all  the  story  they  had 
heard,  and  the  passing  whisper  that  "  Joe  ain't  found 
much,"  ended  the  matter. 

But  Jerry  realized  nothing  after  his  first  look 
around  the  room,  save  that  Joe  was  standing,  hat  in 
hand,  gazing  into  a  long  box  that  seemed  strangely 
like  one  he  had  seen  before.  His  patient  eyes  grew 
more  wistful,  and  a  look  of  pain  and  wonder  came  in 
them  as  he  watched  Joe. 

He  was  afraid  to  go  nearer,  afraid  of  the  certainty 
that  would  be  his  if  he  looked  in  that  box.  Almost  it 
seemed  as  if  he  would  again  see  his  mother  as  he  had 
seen  her  last,  before  his  father  had  nailed  the  box  up 
to  put  it  in  the  ground.  He  trembled  from  head  to 
foot  as  he  stood  looking  up  with  eyes  fixed  steadfastly 
on  Joe's. 

"  Yon's  afraid,"  one  woman  said  to  another,  and 
the  all-important  widow,  hearing  the  words,  looked  at 
the  child. 

"  You  kin  look  in,"  she  said,  "  'Lije  aint  a-goin' 
to  hurt  you  :  he  never  b'lieved  he'd  git  up  no  mo,' 
an'  I  don't  b'lieve  it  nuther —  "  obstinately. 

Jerry  only  half  comprehended  the  words  as  he  stood 
watching  Joe,  and  had  no  thought  that  they  were  ad- 
dressed to  him  ;  but  Joe  fully  realized  not  only  all 
that  was  being  said,  but  all  that  was  being  thought ; 
and  beyond  this,  the  awful  breacrrof  funeral  etiquette 
of  which  Jerry  was  now  guilty.  Not  to  stand  and 
look  mournfully  at  the  poor  lump  of  clay  clothed  in 
the  mocking  emblems  of  daily  life — not  to  stand  and 
think  how  "  he'd  failed  away  in  his  sickness,"  and  how 
he  looked  "  rale  nateral," — not  to  make  a  close  in- 


78  JERRY. 

spection  of  the  defenseless  fellow-creature  so  as  to  be 
able  to  describe  and  criticise  for  the  benefit  of  less 
fortunate  friends  ;  was  to  show  a  decided  lack  of 
breeding,  and  mortally  to  offend  all  surviving  rel- 
atives. 

And  Joe,  not  in  the  least  comprehending  Jerry's 
trembling  terror,  drew  the  child  forward  ;  drew  him 
forward  until  the  questioning  eyes  could  not  but  look 
down  to  the  dead  for  their  answer.  The  gaunt,  gray- 
ish-yellow face — and  the  great  toil-worn  hands  crossed 
in  unearthly  quiet.  There  was  no  sound,  no  move- 
ment from  the  child  ;  he  stood  and  looked  while  his 
heart  seemed  to  sink  within  him,  and  the  daylight 
seemed  to  fade  from  about  him.  His  disconnected 
wonders  were  drawing  together — his  weary  questions 
were  finding  answers. 

He  had  done  no  wrong,  had  aided  in  no  ill  against 
his  mother  :  he  had  been  right  to  lay  the  rails  about 
her,  and  to  pile  the  brush  there  ;  and  his  running 
away  was  not  leaving  her. 

White  and  still  he  stood,  losing  his  ignorance — los- 
ing his  fair  hope  of  the  "  Golding  Gates," — and  with 
a  loneliness  sweeping  about  him  even  as  the  clouds 
swept  down  and  clung  about  the  mountain-side, — a 
loneliness  that  grew  and  grew  as  the  ceremonies  of 
the  day  went  on. 

Every  blow  that  drove  the  nails  home  in  the  coffin- 
lid  seemed  to  echo  back  through  all  his  useless  jour- 
ney, to  his  poor  home  among  the  far-off  hills  !  Every 
dull  thud  of  the  clods  as  they  fell  from  the  busy 
spades,  seemed  to  choke  him, — to  fill  him  with  a  sti- 
fling, breathless  horror, — to  separate  him  still  more 
hopelessly  from  the  only  love  his  days  had  known. 

What  it  was  the  doctor  read, — what  it  was  the  hoarse 
voices  sang, — what  it  meant  when  all  stood  bareheaded 
while  the  doctor  looked  up  to  the  dull  gray  sky,  the 
child  could  not  comprehend  :  it  was  to  him  like  a 
dream,  and  over  and  over  he  whispered — "  I  aint  got 
nobody,  Mammy, — I  aint  got  nobody." 


JERRY.  79 

All  the  way  home  he  plodded  silently  after  Joe  : 
no  words  passed,  only  the  whisper  soft  as  a  breath  : 
"  I  aint  got  nobody,  Mammy,  I  aint  got  nobody." 
And  when  his  scarcely  touched  supper  was  over, 
he  wrapped  himself  in  his  blanket  with  his  little  bundle 
held  close  in  his  arms.  Somehow  he  was  less  lonely 
while  he  could  hold  it  close,  could  know  and  remem- 
ber that  his  mother  had  worn  that  very  apron,  and 
had  hung  it  on  the  very  peg  from  which  he  had  taken 
it.  This  was  a  comfort  to  him,  for  amid  all  the 
changes  and  wonders  of  the  life  he  had  lived  of  late, 
he  seemed  to  be  losing  hold  of  the  stolid  facts  that 
hitherto  had  filled  his  days.  Things  seemed  strange 
and  unreal  to  him,  and  the  poor  faded  apron  was  some- 
thing tangible  that  proved  to  him  that  his  past  had 
been  more  than  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  The  fair  pure  soul  of  a  little  child, 

Opened  wide  to  the  light  of  day — 
Looking  away  to  the  far  Paradise, 
Forgetting  its  roots  are  in  clay." 

ORNIN',  doctor." 

"  Well,  Joe." 
"  I'm  done  brunged  him,  doctor." 

"  Very  well ;  where  do  you  go  from  here  ?  " 

Joe  turned  his  hat  over  in  his  hands  once  or  twice, 
and  threw  his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other  before 
he  answered  with  a  jerk  : 

"  Eureky." 

"  You  work  there  steadily,  do  you  ? "  gravely. 

"  Not  percisely,"  giving  his  hat  another  turn,  "  but 
I  makes  a  livin'  fur  me  an'  Jerry." 

The  doctor  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  blew 
out  a  wreath  of  smoke. 

"  What  is  your  work  ?  "  he  asked. 

There  was  a  pause,  then  Joe  answered  slowly  : 

"  It's  hones'  work,  doctor,  I  promise  you  thet." 

"  The  same  work  your  wife  used  to  cry  about?" 
the  doctor  went  on. 

For  one  moment  Joe  stood  irresolute,  then  he 
turned  from  the  study-door  where  he  had  been  wait- 
ing. 

"  Jerry's  out  har,"  he  said,  and  walked  away  down 
the  hall. 

"  Very  well,"  the  doctor  called  after  him,  "  send 
him  in." 

Coming  from  the  glare  of  the  daylight  into  the  com- 
parative gloom  of  the  study,  where  the  windows  looked 
like  holes  cut  in  walls  of  books,  Jerry  was  blinded  for 

80 


JERRY.  8 1 

a  moment ;  but  in  a  little  while  it  seemed  more  nat- 
ural to  him,  for  the  somber  books  seemed  to  shade  the 
sunshine  down  to  the  likeness  of  the  light  up  under 
the  rocks  where  Joe's  little  house  stood. 

A  bright  fire  burned,  for  the  season  was  late  autumn, 
and  in  front  of  it,  in  a  long,  low-hung  smoking-chair, 
rested  the  doctor. 

Hat  in  hand,  Jerry  paused  just  inside  the  door  and 
looked  about  him. 

Books  were  unknown  to  him,  and  the  walls  might 
just  as  well  have  been  lined  with  stones  for  aught  he 
knew.  He  did  not  look  at  them  with  wonder,  even, 
nor  at  anything  except  the  doctor  looming  like  a 
shadow  in  the  clouds  of  tobacco-smoke. 

This  man  was  a  power  to  Jerry  ;  a  hero,  a  magician 
who  could  cure  every  kind  of  sickness  ;  who  knew 
everything  ;  who  could  "  bury  folks,"  which  was  to 
Jerry  the  most  mysterious  of  all  his  attributes. 

So  Jerry  paused  and  looked  at  him  with  a  deep, 
wondering  interest,  and  some  awe. 

"  Shut  the  door,  Jerry,"  the  doctor  said,  "  and  come 
here." 

Slowly  the  door  swung  on  its  hinges,  closing  with 
an  uncertain  grating  of  the  lock  that  betokened  much 
hesitation,  then  the  clumsy  boots  tramped  heavily 
across  the  floor.  Close  up  he  came  and  stood  looking 
down  with  much  gravity  on  the  doctor,  who  returned 
his  look  with  corresponding  interest. 

"  How  are  you  ? "  he  said. 

"  I'm  well  as  common,"  Jerry  answered. 

"  And  Joe  is  good  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  'How  he's  rale  good,  I  do,"  with  a  little  more 
heartiness  creeping  into  his  voice,  "he  gin  me  boots, 
he  did,"  looking  down  to  where  his  trousers  were 
carefully  stuffed  into  the  coarse,  rough  tops. 

"  Well,  sit  there  by  the  fire,"  the  doctor  went  on, 
pointing  to  a  stool  near  the  hearth,  "  and  tell  me  all 
about  it  ;  I  hear  that  you  went  to  'Lije  Milton's 
funeral." 


82  JERR  Y. 

"  Buryin',"  Jerry  corrected,  taking  his  seat  quietly, 
"Joe  he  names  it  a  buryin',  he  do." 

"  Well,  a  burying  if  you  like  :  Joe  said  you  had 
never  been  to  one,  before,"  the  doctor  went  on  en- 
couragingly; Joe  had  implored  him  to  talk  to  Jerry  on 
these  subjects,  as  from  Joe's  conversation  with  him 
Jerry  did  not  seem  quite  right  in  his  mind  :  so 
the  doctor,  watching  the  child  carefully,  put  his 
question. 

"  I  'llowed  I  never  hed  been  to  nary  a-one,"  looking 
steadfastly  at  the  doctor,  "  'cause  I  never  knowed 
what  it  were  'tell  I  sawn  it  ;  but  when  I  sawn  it  I 
knowed  it,"  shaking  his  head  like  an  old  man,  and 
turning  his  eyes  from  the  doctor  to  fix  them  sadly  on 
the  fire. 

"  And  did  you  hear  the  words  1  read,  Jerry  ?  " 

The  child  shook  his  head. 

"  I  reckon  I  hearn,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  but  I 
never  knowed  'em — I  aint  never  hearn  none  like  "em." 

"  Can  you  read  ?  " 

A  blank  look  came  over  the  child's  face, — 

"I  dunno,"  he  answered  without  looking  up. 

"  Could  your  father  read  ?  or  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Mebbe,"  was  answered  doubtfully,  "  but  I  never 
hearn  nothin*  'bout  it  ;  an'  I  dunno  nothin'  nohow," 
putting  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  chin  down  in 
his  hands.  So  much -that  was  bewildering  had  come 
to  him,  that  he  felt  weary  and  despairing  when  made 
to  realize,  however  kindly,  his  ignorance.  "  I  gits  rale 
tired  a-steddyin'  'bout  things  as  I  hears  Joe  a-talkin' 
"bout,"  he  went  on,  "  I  jest  sets  an'  sets,  an'  keeps  on 
a-steddyin'  'tell  I'm  plum  wore  out,  I  is." 

"  Tell  me  some  of  the  things  you  do  not  under- 
stand," the  doctor  suggested,  becoming  more  inter- 
ested in  the  boy,  about  whom  there  was  an  air  of  such 
unspeakable  loneliness  ; — whose  place  in  the  world's 
general  plan  seemed  to  have  been  forgotten.  No  one 
owned  him  ;  no  one  cared  especially  for  him  ;  and 
having  been  instrumental  in  restoring  the  boy  to  life, 


JERR  Y.  83 

the  doctor  felt  in  some  sort  bound  to  try  to  help  him: 
and  now  the  child  looked  at  him  gravely,  asking — 

"  Do  gole  makes  money  as  buys  whisky  ?•" 

"Yes." 

"  An'  do  gole  make  the  '  Golding  Gates  '  ?" 

"  The  '  Golden  Gates  '  ?  "  slowly. 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  earnestly,  "the  'Golding 
Gates';  thet's  whar  Mammy 'lowed  she  were  a-goin', 
her  did,"  solemnly,  "  an'  her  pinted  straight  out  the 
winder  to  whar  the  sun  were  a-setting,  her  did." 

"  And  they  buried  her  ?  " 

"  They  did,  sure,"  then  with  a  little  catch  in  his 
voice, — "  an'  I  piled  bresh  on  her,  I  did,"  looking  up 
wistfully. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  An'  I  were  feared  as  she  couldn't  never  git  up  no 
mo',  'cause  of  the  bresh,"  speaking  more  rapidly  as  he 
touched  the  cause  of  his  agony,  "  an'  I  hearn  a  wo- 
man a-sayin'as  her  were  planted,  an'  I 'llowed  as  Dad 
hed  kivvered  her  in  so  her  couldn't  run  away  to  the 
'Golding  Gates'— an'  I  'llowed  I  hed  he'pped  him,  I  did, 
but  I  never  knowed — I  never  knowed  !  "  putting  his 
hands  over  his  face. 

"  But  you  did  right,  Jerry,"  the  doctor  said  ;  "  the 
brush  will  protect  the  grave  from  washing." 

"  An'  it  kivvered  the  rails,  it  did,"  looking  up  anx- 
iously, "  I  'llowed  as  'twornt  a-tuckin'  nothin"  jist  to 
lift  a  few  rails  from  the  fence  ;  Dad'Il  never  know  ; 
but  'twornt  a-tuckin'  nothin'.  Mammy  tole  me  never 
to  tuck  nothin'  as  wornt  mine,  her  did." 

"  And  would  not  your  father  have  given  you  the 
rails  ?  "  the  doctor  asked,  more  to  draw  the  child  out 
than  to  decide  on  the  wickedness  of  stealing  the  rails. 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  Dad  never  sot  no  store  by  Mammy,  never,  sure's 
youuns  is  born,"  turning  his  eyes  once  more  to  the 
fire,  "  Dad  were  a-goin'  to  bust  my  head  agin  the 
chimbly,  an'  Mammy  ketched  his'n  arm,  her  did,"  his 
face  lighting  up  and  his  eyes  flashing — "  an'  Dad 


84  JERR  Y. 

knocked  her  agin  the  wall*,  he  did,  an'  chunked  me 
a-topper  her  !  it  was  in  the  mornin',  an'  the  nex' 
mornin'  thar  were  a-buryin'  ;  an'  then  Minervy  Ann 
Salter  corned  to  live,  her  did,"  breathlessly,  "  an'  her 
knocked  me  deef  an'  bline,"  pausing,  "  an'  I  runned 
away,"  with  a  fall  in  his  voice  and  a  change  in  his 
whole  manner  :  the  running  away  had  been  such  an 
utter  failure. 

The  doctor  sat  silent  while  the  wretched  story 
dawned  on  him  :  would  it  be  merciful  to  open  the 
child's  eyes  to  all  the  story — merciful  to  make  him 
understand  all  its  bearings  ? 

"  But  Mammy  he'pped  to  split  them  rails,  her  did," 
the  child  went  on  slowly,  "  an'  I  only  tuck  a  few,  only 
a  few  ;  an'  I  kivvered  'em  good  so  Dad  couldn't  seen 
'em  ;  'cause  if  he  tuck  'em  away  ole  Molly, — thet's 
the  sow,"  in  an  explanatory  tone,  "  ole  Molly'd  a-root- 
ed  it  sure,  jist  sure,"  meditatively,  "  fur  ole  Molly 
were  the  meanes'  hog  a-livin'  :  I  'llow  Minervy  Ann 
Sailer's  done  kilt  her  by  now,  I  reckon  her  hes," 
drawing  his  shirt-sleeve  across  his  nose  ;  "  pore  ole 
Molly,  her  were  pisen  mean,  sure,  but  her  b'longed  to 
Mammy,  an'  I'd  like  powerful  to  see  her  onest  more, 
I  would, — I  aint  got  nobody,"  putting  his  face  down 
on  his  arms  that  were  crossed  on  his  knees — "  I  aint 
got  nobody — "  with  a  little  cry  that  struck  home  to 
his  companion's  heart. 

"  And  I  too  have  nobody,  Jerry,"  the  doctor  said. 

The  child  looked  up  slowly. 

"  Not  nary  a  soul  ? "  he  asked. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  My  mother  died  when  I  was  a  little  baby,"  he 
said. 

"  An'  youuns'  daddy  ? "  interestedly. 

"  He  married  again." 

"  An'  she  beat  youuns  ? " 

"No,  but  she  did  not  like  me,  and  I  lived  with  my 
uncle." 

"An'  you  never  runned  away?" 


JERR  Y.  85 

"  No,  but  after  I  was  a  man  my  uncle  died,  and  I 
came  out  here."" 

"  What  fur  ?  "  gravely. 

"  There  are  people  here  ;  people  who  get  sick,  and 
lonely,  and  tired,  and  I  can  help  them  ;  I  can  make 
them  well,  and  help  them  to  be  good  so  that  they  can 
go  in  at  the  '  Golden  Gate '  when  they  die." 

"  Does  you  b'lieve  thar's  a  '  Golding  Gates  '  ?  " 
wonderingly  ;  for  his  own  belief  in  it  had  seemed  to 
fade  from  him  in  the  presence  of  death  and  the  grave 
as  he  had  lately  realized  them. 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  youuns  mammy  is  thar  ?  "  softly. 

"  Yes," 

"  An'  my  mammy  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  ;  then  the  thin  little 
face  was  raised  again. 

"  I  corned  a  fur  ways  an'  I  aint  never  sawn  it." 

"  And  I  have  never  seen  it,  but  I  know  it  is  there." 

"  Whar  ?  " 

"  On  the  other  side  the  grave." 

"  The  grave  ?  " 

"  Yes,  where  we  will  be  buried." 

"Like  'Lije  Milton?" 

"  Yes." 

The  child  turned  away  again  to  the  fire  that  danced 
and  flickered  up  the  chimney,  as  if  he  saw  some  vision 
in  the  flames :  and  the  doctor,  thinking  his  own 
thoughts,  almost  forgot  the  child. 

"  But  'Lije  Milton  never  b'lieved  as  he'd  git  up  agin," 
came  at  last,  rousing  the  doctor  from  his  dream,  "and 
Joe  says  as  'Lije'd  jest  as  lieve  stay  in  thet  thar  hole 
furiver,  an'  hisn  woman  tole  me  them  same  words, 
her  did." 

"  Maybe  he  would,"  the  doctor  answered,  "  but  that 
does  not  mean  that  he  is  going  to  stay  there  :  you  may 
be  willing  to  sit  by  that  fire  forever,  but  that  does  not 
mean  that  you  are  going  to  do  it." 


86  JERRY. 

"That's  true  as  mornin',"  the  child  said  slowly,  "  I'd 
jest  as  lieve  stay  har,  but  I  aint  agoin'  to  :  an'  'Lije 
will  hev  to  git  up?" 

"  Yes." 

"  When  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Joe  'Hows  as  it's  named  the  '  Jedgment  day,' " 
deprecatingly. 

"  Some  people  call  it  so,"  the  doctor  answered. 

"  An'  what  does  you  call  it  ?  " 

"  I  call  it  going  home,"  watching  a  wreath  of  smoke 
as  it  floated  away  slowly. 

"  To  youuns'  mammy  ? "  the  boy  asked. 

"  Yes,"  and  the  doctor  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

How  persistently  the  child  clung  to  the  one  love  of 
his  life  :  and  he  pictured  to  himself  what  a  poor,  drag- 
gled creature  this  mother  had  been,  yet  how  divinely 
the  child's  love  wrapped  her  in  its  beauty.  Her  life 
had  been  given  for  his  ; — and  some  day  he  would  know 
this.  Then  with  a  sigh  the  doctor  roused  himself. 

"  You  must  learn  to  read,  Jerry,"  he  said. 

"  Read  ? " 

"  Yes,  like  this,"  taking  a  book  from  a  table  near 
him,  and  opening  it,  "you  see  these  little  marks  ? " 

"I  do." 

"  Well  they  are  words,  and  a  great  many  of  these 
words  put  together  make  a  book  ;  a  book  like  one  of 
these,"  pointing  to  the  shelves. 

The  child  looked  about  him  in  wonder  ;  on  every 
side  were  rows  and  rows  of  these  things  called  '  books,' 
what  were  they — what  did  they  mean  ? 

"  And  you  must  learn  so  that  you  can  take  one  of 
these  and  know  what  is  in  it." 

"  What  fur  ?  "  gravely. 

"  So  that  you  will  know  everything  without  asking 
any  questions,"  the  doctor  answered,  "  and  there  is  a 
book  that  will  tell  you  about  the  Judgment  day,  and 
about  the  home  where  your  mother  has  gone,  and 
about  what  you  must  do  to  get  to  your  mother." 


JERRY.  87 

The  solemn  eyes  opened  wide,  and  the  boy  came 
close  to  this  friend  who  would  do  so  much  for  him. 

"  Show  me  it  ?"  almost  breathlessly. 

The  doctor  took  up  a  small  Bible  that  lay  near,  and 
put  it  in  the  boy's  hands. 

"  That  will  tell  you  all  about  it,  when  you  learn  to 
read  it." 

The  child  went  back  to  the  hearth,  but  not  to  the 
stool ;  the  crowding  emotions  drove  all  unnaturalness 
from  his  mind,  and  he  squatted  down  after  his  own 
fashion.  He  turned  the  book  over  and  over  tenderly, 
from  time  to  time  wiping  his  hands  on  his  trousers  ; 
over  and  over,  then  he  opened  it — nothing  but  little 
black  marks  and  dots — nothing  he  could  know  or 
understand  ;  it  was  disappointing,  and  he  shut  it  up 
again. 

"  It'll  tell  me  the  way  to  go  ?  "  he  asked  wonder- 
ingly. 

"Yes." 

"  To  tuck  me  right  straight  to  mammy  ?  " 

11  Yes." 

"  An'  when  I  gits  thar  kin  I  tell  her  'bout  thet 
bresh  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  An'  'bout  ther  big  water  I  were  feared  on  ? " 

"  You  can  tell  her  everything,  Jerry,  but  it  will  not 
be  any  use,  for  she  knows  it  all  now  ;  she  is  always 
watching  you,  and  is  always  near  you  ;  you  can  not 
see  her,  but  she  is  always  with  you." 

"  My  Mammy  !  "  looking  quickly  over  his  shoulder, 
with  a  sort  of  terror  gathering  in  his  eyes — "tell  me 
agin,  doctor,  I  'How  I  don't  rightly  on'erstan'  youuns," 
dropping  on  his  knees  and  creeping  to  the  doctor's 
side. 

"  It  will  take  a  long  time  for  you  to  understand, 
Jerry,"  looking  pityingly  down  into  the  anxious  eyes, 
"  but  you  must  believe  what  I  say  ;  believe  that  your 
mother  is  near  you,  watching  you  ;  and  when  you  are 
good  she  is  happy,  and  when  you  are  bad  she  is  sorry." 


88  JERR  Y. 

The  child  looked  all  about  him  where  he  knelt  with 
the  book  clasped  in  his  hands,  and  a  whisper  crept 
through  the  silence — 

"  Mammy  !  " 

A  mystery  more  strange  than  all  others  had  come 
to  him  which  there  was  no  hope  of  solving  ;  this, 
however,  made  no  difference, — the  doctor  said  he  was 
to  believe  it,  and  his  lonely  heart  had  grasped  it  and 
was  hugging  it  close.  And  the  doctor  watching  him 
saw  the  little  hand  reach  out  with  an  uncertain,  long- 
ing gesture  ; — if  only  he  could  touch  his  mother  ! 

And  all  the  way  home  the  happy  thought  went  with 
him  that  his  mother  walked  beside  him.  Almost  he 
heard  her  footsteps  and  would  pause  to  listen. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

'•  And  with  small,  childish  hands  we  are  turning  around 
The  apple  of  life  which  another  has  found." 

T   CLEAN  furgot,"  Jerry  said  slowly. 

He  was  squatting  on  the  hearth,  looking  into 
the  fire,  with  the  book  the  doctor  had  given 
him  held  close  in  his  hands.     "  I  clean  furgot  'bout 
the  gole,  Joe." 

"  Folks  mostly  'members  gole,"  Joe  answered,  pack- 
ing his  pipe  carefully.  "An'  I  'llowed  as  you  never 
knowed  nothin'  'bout  it,  you'd  ax  the  doctor." 

"  Aint  you  got  no  gole  as  you  kin  lemme  see  ?  "  the 
boy  asked. 

Joe  stirred  diligently  in  the  fire  until  he  found  a 
coal  to  suit  him,  then  picking  it  up  deftly  with  his  hard 
fingers,  he  dropped  it  on  his  pipe. 

"  Mebbe  I  hes,"  he  answered  slowly,  running  his 
hand  deep  into  his  trouser  pockets.  "  Mebbe  I  hes 
one  piece  as  you  kin  see,"  and  he  drew  out  a  five-dol- 
lar piece,  old  and  dingy. 

"  Look  at  thet,"  he  said  with  some  pride,  "  jest  turn 
it  over  an'  feel  of  it." 

Jerry  turned  it  over  obediently,  but  no  exclamation 
of  admiration  escaped  him,  no  word  of  any  kind,  and 
a  look  of  disappointment  clouded  his  face. 

"It  aint  much  purty,"  he  said  at  last,  holding  it  at 
a  little  distance,  "  it  ain't  much  yaller,  nor  much  shiny, 
it  aint." 

"  It's  ole,"  Joe  granted,  "  an'  heapser  folks  is  hed 
thet." 

"  What  fur  ?  "  looking  up  simply. 

"  What  fur  !  Lord,  boy,  sure  ernough  you  dunno 

89 


9°  JERR  y. 

nothin' !  What  fur?  Great-day-in-the-mornin'! " 
bringing  his  fist  down  heavily  on  the  table,  "  why,  fur 
ever'thing, — jest  ever'  blessed  thing  !  " 

Again  Jerry  turned  his  eyes  on  the  money  that  to 
him  meant  so  little — good  for  everything. 

"  Good  to  git  me  to  Mammy  ? "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  You  bet,"  Joe  answered  hastily,  "  fur  if  you 
hev  ernough,  you  aint  agoin'  to  cuss,  ner  sw'ar,  ner 
steal,  ner  hev  a-hankerin'  alter  other  folks'  truck  ;  an' 
if  you  don't  do  noner  thet,  you  kin  git  any- 
whars." 

"  Mammy  never  hed  none,"  thoughtfully. 

"  An'  her  never  went  no  whars,"  Joe  struck  in  con- 
clusively. 

"  Her  went  to  the  '  Golding  Gates,'  "  slowly,  "  'cause 
the  doctor  says  so,"  the  doctor  being  overwhelming 
evidence. 

Joe  rubbed  his  hand  all  over  his  ragged  hair  :  what 
could  he  say  ;  his  own  knowledge  embraced  only  bar- 
ren facts  and  unproved  beliefs. 

"  The  doctor  'Hows  as  she  hev  gone  to  the  '  Golding 
Gates,' "  the  child  repeated. 

"  An'  I  'Hows  it,"  Joe  answered,  "  an'  I  'Hows  as 
my  Nancy  Ann — leetle  Nan,  I  calls  her  mostly, — hev 
gone  thar  too." 

"  An'  her  never  hed  no  gole,"  simply. 

"  Not  rayly  much,"  Joe  answered  hastily,  "but  jest 
you  rub  thet  gole  in  the  ashes,"  he  went  on,  chang- 
ing the  subject,  "an'  you'll  see  jest  how  it  shines 
an'  shines  'tell  it  gits  right  in  a  feller's  eye,  it  does." 
Then  more  meditatively,  "  It  seems  like  a  eye  don't 
rayly  count,  it  gits  holt  of  a  feller  all  roun',  it  do." 

And  Jerry  stooping,  rubbed  diligently  first  one  side 
of  the  coin,  then  the  other,  in  the  warm  soft  ashes 
until  the  gold  shone  and  glittered. 

"It  do  shine,"  He  said  at  last,  turning  it  over  in  his 
palm,  "  folks  oughter  keep  it  a-shinin'." 

"  Folks  hes  too  much  to  'tend  to,  they  hes,"  Joe 
answered,  blowing  clouds  of  smoke  out  in  his  satisfac- 


JERRY.  91 

tion  over  having  convinced  Jerry  of  at  least  the  beauty 
of  gold  ;  "  they'll  tuck  thet  to  the  sto',"  Joe  went  on 
instructively,  "  an'  Dan  Burk  '11  give  'em  a  letter 
truck  ;  fur  all  he's  pisen  cheatin'  !  "  again  striking  the 
table.  "  When  I  come  har  he  never  hed  nary  a  thing, 
an'  his'n  woman  tuck  in  what  pore  little  washin'  she 
could  git,  her  did  ;  an'  now — God-er-mussy  ! — thar 
aint  nothin'  good  ernough  fur  her — nothin' ;  an'  my 
pore  leetle  Nan  air  dead  !  " 

Jerry  sat  silent,  turning  the  gold  over  in  his  hands  : 
he  did  not  understand  all  of  Joe's  words,  but  being 
accustomed  to  this  mistiness  of  comprehension,  he 
said  nothing. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  then  Joe  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe. 

"  An'  the  doctor  wants  ter  see  me  ?  "  he  said. 

"  He  do,"  Jerry  answered  ;  "  he  wants  to  see  you 
'bout  sumpen,  I  dunno  rightly  what  ;  but  he  says,  says 
he,  '  Jerry,  tell  Joe  I  wanter  see  him  right  pertickler,' 
says  'ee,  an'  I  says,  says  I,  '  Doctor,  I  will.'  " 

"  Thet's  cl'ar,"  Joe  said  slowly,  "an  I'll  go  to-mor- 
rer,  I  will  ";  then  to  the  boy,  "  gimme  the  gole,  boy, 
it's  to  buy  wittles,  it  is." 

And  Jerry  delivered  up  the  money  he  had  made  to 
shine,  the  money  he  did  not  as  yet  know  the  meaning 
of,  but  that,  nevertheless,  had  a  mysterious  fascination 
for  him. 

He  had  turned  it  over  many  times,  had  looked  at  it 
with  a  longing  desire  to  know  its  full  value  and  mean- 
ing :  he  should  have  asked  the  doctor  about  it,  and 
must  surely  remember  to  do  it  the  next  time  he  saw 
him.  He  would  go  and  see  him  again  very  shortly, 
for  there  was  growing  up  in  his  heart  an  absorbing 
adoration  of  this  man — this  man  who  had  first  made 
him  well,  and  had  now  made  him  happy.  Had  told 
him  his  mother  was  near  him  always — had  given  him  a 
book  to  tell  him  the  sure  way  to  reach  her. 

"  I  loves  him,  I  do,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  Joe 
hearing  the  indistinct  whisper  roused  from  his  revery. 


92  JERRY. 

"  What's  thet  youuns  says  ?  "  he  asked. 

Jerry  looked  up — 

"  I  says  as  I  loves  the  doctor,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"  I  'How  I  do  too,"  and  again  Joe  rubbed  his  stubbly 
hair,  "  he's  a  rale  gentleman,  he  is,  ceppen  he's  mos' 
too  hones'." 

"  I  wonder  !  "  Jerry  said  slowly. 

"  It's  so,"  Joe  went  on,  "  the  doctor  jist  helps  all 
the  mean, — pisenes'  mean  trash  thet  comes  to  Dur- 
den's,  an'  he  never  axes  a  center  pay,  he  don't." 

"  What's  pay  ? "  and  Jerry  pushed  the  fire  that  had 
fallen  a  little  apart. 

"  Well,"  and  Joe's  tone  was  well-nigh  hopeless,  "  if 
youuns  aint  the  all-beatenes'  boy  I  hev  ever  saw  ! 
aint  you  never  done  a  job  afore  you  leff  home  ?  " 

"  I  hepped  Mammy  hoe  the  crap,"  Jerry  answered, 
"an"  I  hepped  her  split  .rails,  I  did,  an'  I  'llowed  I 
could  tuck  a  few  to  lay  roun'  her,  I  did." 

Joe  was  in  despair  almost  ;  only  one  thought  the 
child  seemed  to  have — his  mother,  and  the  grave  he 
had  heaped  with  brush — how  could  anything  be  ex- 
plained to  him  ?  And  into  Joe's  half-developed  mind 
crept  the  thought  that  whatever  Jerry  took  hold  of  he 
would  never  let  go — never.  While  the  child's  strangely 
simple  question  found  him  always  without  an  answer, 
and  about  things  he  had  thought  himself  in  full 
knowledge  of. 

"  Pay  means  to  gie  a  feller  pay  when  he  works  fur 
youuns,"  Joe  began  ;  "  an'  the  docter  works  on  all 
the  trash  as  gits  sick,  an'  they  never  gie  him  a 
cent." 

"  Bid  you  pay  him  fur  a-workin'  on  me  ?  "  the 
child  asked. 

Joe  shook  his  head. 

"  He  'llowed  as  you  didn't  rightly  b'long  to  me 
nohow — an'  he  wouldn't  tuck  no  pay  :  an'  when  Nancy 
Ann  an'  my  leetle  baby  died  he  never  tuck  no  pay 
nuther,  'cause  he  'llowed  as  I  were  too  pore,  he  did  ; 
but  I'll  pay  him  yit,  you  bet  !  "  slapping  his  pocket 


JERRY.  93 

that  jingled  as  if  there  were  more  gold  pieces  there 
like  the  one  he  had  shown  Jerry,  "  I'll  pay  him  'cause 
I  loves  him,  I  do." 

"An"  what  kin  I  do?"  the  child  asked  slowly,  "I 
dunno  nothin'  ceppen  to  hoe,  an'  chop  wood,  an'  to 
tote  water." 

"  You  kin  larn,"  Joe  answered  comfortingly  ; 
"  when  I  were  a  little  chap  I  never  knowed  nothin' 
nuther,  but  I  larned  :  jist  keep  youuns'  eyes  open,  an' 
youuns'  yeers  open,  an'  you'll  larn  a  heap,  you  bet." 

"  An'  I'll  larn  to  read  the  book,"  Jerry  added,  tak- 
ing his  Bible  from  the  floor  where  he  had  laid  it  while 
he  rubbed  the  money,  "  an"  I'll  read  it  to  you,  Joe, 
'bout  how  you  mus'  git  to  Nancy  Ann,"  he  went  on 
simply. 

"  I'm  'bleeged,  Jerry,"  Joe  answered,  taking  Jerry's 
offer  as  it  was  meant,  "  but  I  don't  sot  much  store  by 
larnin,"  gravely,  "  but  I  reckon  it'll  take  all  you 
kin  git  to  git  you  along  :  folks  as  aint  got  much 
natteral  sense  needs  a  heaper  larnin',  they  do." 

"  An'  I'll  try  to  git  it,"  humbly, "an"  I'll  ax  the  doc- 
tor 'bout  gole,  I  will." 

"An"  I'll  go  to  see  him  in  the  mornin',  I  will,"  and  Joe 
began  to  bar  the  door  and  the  window,  and  Jerry 
crept  away  to  his  blankets  in  the  corner,  and  Pete  to 
his  leaves  ;  and  when  all  was  still  Joe  made  his  usual 
rounds,  and  leaned  his  loaded  rifle  by  the  bedside. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  '  Nevertheless,' continues  he,  '  I,  too,  acknowledge  the  all  but 
omnipotence  of  early  culture  and  nurture  ;  whereby  we  have  either 
a  doddered  dwarf-bush,  or  a  high  towering,  wide-shading  tree  ; 
either  a  sick  yellow  cabbage,  or  an  edible,  luxuriant  green  one.'  " 

A  FTER  Joe  had  been  to  see  the  doctor,  Jerry  had 
£\  been  told  that  he  was  to  go  there  every  day  that 
he  might  learn  to  read  and  write.  There  was 
no  school  in  Burden's,  and  Eureka  was  too  far  for 
Jerry  to  walk  there  every  day  ;  so  the  doctor  had 
agreed  to  teach  Jerry,  and  the  money  Joe  would  have 
had  to  pay  the  school-master  in  Eureka,  he  was  to  give 
to  some  poor  people  in  Burden's, — families  the  doctor 
knew  to  be  worthy  of  help. 

"  So  I'm  a-payin'  fur  you,  Jerry,  and  you  mus' 
try  to  larn,"  Joe  had  said  ;  and  Jerry,  with  a  very 
humble  and  dejected  mind,  had  promised  to  make 
every  effort  in  his  power.  The  feeling  that  he  had  to 
learn  because  he  had  not  enough  natural  sense  was 
dispiriting  ;  but  it  was  some  comfort  to  know  that  the 
doctor  had  learned  all  these  things,  and  if  he  had  be- 
gun life  with  a  deficiency  of  mind,  Jerry  felt  there  was 
hope.  And  he  said  mildly  in  answer  to  Joe  : 

"The  doctor  jest  knows  ever'thing,  Joe,  an'  I  'llow 
he  hed  to  larn  'em  ;  I  reckon  he  had  mighty  leetle 
sense  when  he  started./ 

Joe  shook  his  head. 

"I  clunno,"  he  answered  honestly,  in  spite  of  the 
point  Jerry  so  unconsciously  had  made,  "  I  dunno 
'bout  hisn  sense  ;  but  if  larnin'  kin  do  thet  much  fur 
any  pusson,  then  I  says  larn,  I  do." 

"  I  will,"  Jerry  had  said  earnestly,  and  had  trudged 
away  down  the  mountain-side  with  determination  in 

94 


JERRY.  95 

every  step.  It  was  all  a  great  mystery  to  Jerry,  and 
somehow  since  he  had  learned  what  books  were,  and 
that  they  knew  everything,  he  felt  somewhat  afraid  of 
them,  and  looked  at  the  study  as  an  educated  child 
would  look  on  a  haunted  house.  He  dreaded  the 
room,  but  overcame  his  fears  sufficiently  to  stay  there 
alone  for  hours  when  the  doctor  would  leave  him  to 
go  on  his  round  of  visits.  He  would  endure  every- 
thing in  order  to  learn  :  his  motives  were  simple,  but 
because  of  their  simplicity  were  strong  ;  first,  the 
doctor  had  said  he  must  learn  ;  and  second,  Joe  was 
paying  precious  gold  for  his  learning..  But  beyond 
all  this  there  was  the  longing  to  read  the  books  that 
would  tell  him  everything,  and  show  him  the  way  to 
his  mother  ;  and  with  these  motives  behind  him  he 
plodded  patiently  along  the  road  to  knowledge  close 
at  his  master's  heels.  And  the  doctor  had  asked  him- 
self if  he  were  wise  in  the  course  he  had  begun  with 
Jerry  :  would  not  his  own  ignorant,  narrow  groove  in 
life  be  happier  for  him  ? 

Maybe  ;  but  it  was  right  to  lift,  be  it  ever  so  little, 
every  immortal  soul.  He  had  made  a  vow  once  to 
help  in  some  way  every  life  that  came  in  contact  with 
his  own — more  than  this,  to  seek  out  lives  and  strive 
to  raise  them  :  a  step  might  not  be  altogether  clean, 
yet  people  could  mount  by  it.  He  would  raise  the 
boy  as  high  as  was  possible  ;  would  give  him  as  much 
education  as  he  would  take — this  would  be  doing 
only  his  duty.  The  life  of  this  poor  little  waif  was  as 
lonely  as  his  own,  and  what  was  marvelous  for  his 
class — feeling  the  loneliness.  Usually  if  they  had 
enough  to  eat  and  clothes  to  cover  them,  this  was  suf- 
ficient ;  but  this  child,  living  in  comparative  comfort, 
knew  there  was  something  he  missed,  and  was  hunt- 
ing for  it  vaguely — blindly.  Only  a  spark  of  soul, 
maybe,  but  he  would  keep  it  alive,  and  perhaps  light  a 
life  that  would  be  a  beacon  to  many. 

And  the  possibilities  that  he  was  setting  up  a  "  will- 
o-the-wisp  " — could  he  overlook  them  ?  How  many 


9<5  JERRY. 

chances  of  inheritance  were  there  against  this  boy — 
what  lay  behind  in  his  blood  ?  Still,  he  would  try  ; 
for  the  child  was  surely  above  the  average ;  already 
he  had  shown  thought  and  gratitude  :  standing  look- 
ing up  in  the  doctor's  face,  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, he  had  asked  gravely  : 

"  Do  gole  keep  a  feller  from  cussin'  ?  " 

The  doctor  took  his  pipe  from  between  his  lips  the 
better  to  see  the  sharp  little  face. 

"  Joe  'Hows  as  gole  keeps  a  feller  from  cussin',"  the 
child  went  on,  "  and  from  stealin',  and  a-hankerin' 
atter  other  folk's  truck  ;  do  it  ? " 

And  the  doctor  answered  slowly  : 

"  Sometimes  it  does.  Jerry,"  smoothing  his  mustache 
over  his  lips  that  were  smiling. 

"  An'  gole  gits  aheaper  truck  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  An*  pays  you  fur  a-workin'  on  pore  folks,  an'  sick 
folks,  an'  pisen  mean  folks  ?  "  eagerly. 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  I  can't  pay  you,"  wistfully,  "  but  I  kin  chop 
wood,  an'  hoe,  an'  tote  water,  I  kin." 

"It  does  not  make  any  difference,  Jerry,"  was  an- 
swered gravely,  "  I  was  glad  to  make  you  well." 

Then  there  was  a  silence  while  the  boy  from  where 
he  stood  looked  pityingly  on  the  man. 

"  An'  nary  a  pusson  he'ps  youuns,"  slowly,  "  'cause 
you  is  big  an'  strong,  an*  knows  ever'thing,"  the  child 
went  on  as  if  to  himself,  "  an'  I  can't  do  nothin', — 
nothin'  ceppen  sot  a  heaper  store  by  you  ;  an*  I  do, 
— fore  God,  I  do  ;  jest  you  say,  an'  I'll  do  it  sure, 
jest  sure  !  Farwell  !  "  and  then  the  door  was  shut, 
and  down  the  hall  the  heavy  boots  had  tramped  out  of 
hearing  ;  and  the  lonely  man  had  listened  and  known 
that  into  his  life  a  true  love  and  gratitude  had  come — 
like  a  sweet,  fresh  rain  falling  wastefully  on  fire-hard- 
ened clay.  True,  still  all  that  duty  could  do  should 
be  done  for  the  child. 

And  Paul,  coming  in  and  finding  Jerry's  slate  full 


JERRY,  97 

of  poor  little  efforts  at  writing,  propped  on  the  table  so 
that  the  fullest  light  fell  on  it,  and  knowing  whose  it 
must  be,  pondered  on  the  meaning  of  this  man's  strange 
life.  What  was  the  point  of  this  new  freak  that  made 
a  man  like  his  guardian  spend  hours  on  this  wretched 
little  creature.  He  had  better  be  a  clergyman  at  once. 
And  was  this  what  his  mother  meant  by  being  a  man  ? 
Was  this  the  hope  entertained  for  him  ?  A  feeling 
that  was  hatred  almost,  came  over  him  ;  and  he  swore 
a  silent,  angry  oath  that  no  such  hope  should  be  ful- 
filled. 

But  he  had  a  curiosity  to  see  this  boy, — and  one  day 
he  waited  for  him — one  day  when  the  doctor  was  out. 
It  was  a  crisp,  cold  day,  with  a  thin  covering  of  snow 
rounding  all  the  sharp  outlines  about  the  country,  and 
making  the  pine  woods  look  like  fairy-land.  Very 
cold  in  the  early  daylight  when  Joe  went  away  to  his 
work  ;  and  Jerry  as  he  put  things  to  rights,  whistled 
a  straight  sort  of  tune  he  had  heard  Joe  whistle  as  he 
sat  idle  on  Sundays — whistled  on  and  on  in  calm  con- 
tentment, not  knowing  that  the  day  would  mark  a  turn- 
ing-point in  his  life  ;  life  was  a  good  thing  as  it  came 
to  him  now. 

His  work  was  soon  done,  and  shutting  up  the  house 
securely,  he  tucked  his  trousers  deeper  into  his  boots, 
tied  his  hat  down'over  his  ears  with  a  woolen  scarf, 
and  put  on  a  coat  of  Joe's  which,  if  rather  large,  was 
warm. 

A  queer  figure  he  made  trudging  across  the  white 
country,  his  long  coat  flapping  against  his  heels,  and 
occasionally  sweeping  the  snow  off  some  drift  higher 
than  the  rest,  and  his  sharply-cut  yellow  face  looking 
out  from  the  folds  of  his  scarf.  But  the  hollows  in 
his  face  had  filled  out, — the  angles  had  rounded  down, 
and  the  expression  had  changed  in  a  way  that  was  re- 
markable. His  eyes  were  wistful  still,  but  there  had 
crept  into  them  a  keen,  thoughtful  look  that  asked  a 
question  with  every  glance. 

Still  whistling  the  straight  tune,  he  steadily  over- 


98  JERRY. 

came  the  obstacles  of  the  steep,  slippery  path  ;  then 
out  across  the  sweep  of  the  valley  where  the  wind 
seemed  to  gather  up  its  scattered  forces  and  attack 
one  on  all  sides,  keen,  bitter,  merciless. 

But  the  boy  did  not  pause  ;  steadily  on  against  wind 
and  snow  until  the  road  that  formed  the  one  street  of 
Burden's  was  reached,  then  he  slackened  his  pace,  and 
even  with  this  pause  was  almost  breathless  when  he 
reached  the  doctor's  house.  Still  the  end  was  accom- 
plished, and  up  the  steps  and  down  the  hall  he  went, 
and  in  at  the  study  door  in  perfect  peace  with  himself. 

Always  reverent  in  his  demeanor  toward  the  study, 
yet  this  time  he  paused  longer  in  his  closing  of  the 
study  door  :  a  new  presence  was  there,  a  person  that 
in  all  his  visits  Jerry  had  never  before  seen.  Fair  and 
tall,  but  still  a  boy  ;  certainly  a  boy,  for  his  trousers 
were  stuffed  into  his  boots — but  such  boots  !  A  round 
fur  cap  was  set  on  one  side  of  his  fair  head — a  fur- 
lined  cloak,  held  in  place  by  a  glittering  clasp,  was 
thrown  back  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  hands,  small 
and  white,  were  stretched  out  to  the  roaring  blaze. 

Jerry  paused  inside  the  door  and  looked  at  this  new 
person  without  any  hesitation  or  expression  of  embar- 
rassment ;  the  same  honest  observation  that  would 
have  been  called  forth  by  any  unknown  wonder,  now 
came  to  the  front  in  honor  of  Paul  *;  for  it  was  he  who 
occupied  Jerry's  eyes  and  thoughts. 

"  Well,"  Paul  said  slowly,  giving  the  new-comer  a 
stare  quite  as  unmitigated  as  Jerry's  own,  "  is  your 
name  Jerry  ? " 

"  It  are,"  gravely,  coming  toward  the  fire. 

"  It  are,  are  it  ?  "  Paul  went  on  with  a  mockery  in 
his  tone  that  was  not  lost  on  Jerry — "you  must  love 
lessons  to  come  on  such  a  day  as  this." 

"  I  do,"  Jerry  returned,  beginning  to  divest  himself 
of  coat  and  hat,  "an"  I  loves  the  doctor  too." 

"  That  is  really  wonderful, — and  your  coat,"  slap- 
ping his  legs  with  a  riding-whip  he  held,  "who  made 
that?" 


JERRY.  99 

"  I  dunno,"  turning  the  clumsy  garment  over  with 
recollection  only  of  the  great  comfort  he  found  there- 
in, for  what  were  cut  and  fit  to  Jerry  ?  "  Joe  he  gin  it 
to  me,  an'  its  rale  warm,  it  are." 

"  Rayly  ?"  and  Paul  threw  his  hat  on  a  neighbor- 
ing chair,  and  his  cloak  on  top  of  it,  "  Well,  the  doc- 
tor are  gone  out,  he  are,"  he  went  on. 

"  Doctor's  mostly  out  when  I  gits  har,"  Jerry  an- 
swered calmly,  but  not  without  some  appreciation  of 
the  sarcasm  contained  in  Paul's  English  ;  for  he  was 
beginning  to  realize  the  great  gulf  that  separated  his 
language  from  that  of  his  master,  "  an'  I  allers  waits 
fur  him,  an'  I  steddys  my  book  tell  he  comes." 

"  You  don't  say  !  "  Paul  went  on,  showing  himself 
master  of  the  vernacular,  "  an'  when  he  comes  do  he 
say  youun's  is  a  good  boy  ?  " 

Jerry  shook  his  head  quietly  enough,  but  the  color 
stole  up  slowly  into  his  dark  face — 

"  He  says,  says  he, '  Does  youuns  knows  yer  lessing, 
Jerry  '  ?"  steadily — "  an'  I  says,  says  I,  '  I'm  a-sted- 
dyin',"  taking  his  place  on  the  accustomed  stool,  "an* 
then,"  with  an  expression  of  despair  in  his  eyes  that 
quite  amuses  Paul,  "  I  tries  to  say  it,  an'  I'm  thet  flus- 
tered I  can't  do  nothin'." 

Paul  laughed  with  real  amusement  in  his  tones  this 
time,  and  asked  his  next  question  with  an  honest 
desire  for  information. 

"  And  the  doctor  looks  like  a  meat-axe,  don't  he  ?  " 

"  A  meat-axe  !  "  indignantly,  "  no,  he  don't  nuther  ; 
he  says,  says  he,  '  Jerry,  try  agin,'  ceppen  the  doctor 
he  says  '  agen,'  he  do." 

"  The  mischief  !  "  and  Paul  poked  the  fire  vicious- 
ly ;  "  when  I  miss,"  he  went  on,  "  he's  as  mad  as  the 
devil,  and  does  everything  but  fling  the  book  at  my 
head." 

Jerry  looked  his  companion  over  from  head  to  foot, 
a  look  of  scorn  almost. 

"  I  jest  don't  b'lieve  thet,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  jest 
don't  b'lieve  it." 


loo  JERRY. 

The  quick  color  sprang  into  Paul's  girlish  cheeks — 
"The  devil!"  he  cried  angrily,  looking  down  on 
Jerry  where  he  sat  in  his  favorite  position  with  his 
elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  chin  in  his  hands — "  I'll 
beat  the  life  out  of  you." 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  you  won't,  nuther  ! "  a  new  light  of  defi- 
ance shining  in  his  eyes,  "and  you  jest  better  not 
try  it." 

Paul  laughed  lightly,  already  half  ashamed  of 
threatening  such  an  enemy. 

"You  need  not  be  so  uppish!"  he  said,  with  great 
contempt,  "  do  you  suppose  I  would  touch  such  a 
dirty  little  beggar  as  you  are  ?  You  are  a  fool  !  " 

The  color  deepened  in  Jerry's  face,  and  slowly  he 
rose  from  his  place  as  the  full  meaning  of  Paul's  words 
reached  his  mind. 

"  I  aint  no  beggar,"  and  he  drew  his  slim  figure  to 
its  full  height,  "an*  I  aint  dirty  ;  an'  you  kin  jest 
take  thet  for  youuns'  lyin'  words,"  and  before  Paul 
could  move  to  defend  himself — could  in  any  way 
realize  what  was  coming,  Jerry's  rough  hand  struck 
him  fairly  in  the  mouth. 

But  that  was  all  Jerry  did,  for  in  a  second  Paul's 
soft,  plaited  riding  whip  was  wrapping  itself  round 
Jerry's  back  and  shoulders  in  quick,  stinging  blows — 
blinding,  bitter  blows  that  fell  with  bewildering 
rapidity ! 

It  lasted  only  fora  moment, — then  the  smaller  boy's 
arms,  hardened  by  toil,  were  wrapped  tightly  about 
Paul's  body,  and  Jerry  strong  with  rage  and  hatred 
bore  him  relentlessly  back,  heedless  of  all  obstacles, 
until  Paul's  spurs  caught  and  he  crashed  down  among 
the  chairs  and  stools,  and  in  an  instant,  before  he 
could  at  all  realize  what  was  being  done,  Jerry  was 
sitting  on  top  of  him. 

"  Now  jest  dar'  to  say  ther  doctor's  a  meat-axe  !  " 
he  cried,  emphasizing  his  words  by  tapping  his  finger 
on  the  end  of  Paul's  nose,  "  an'  jest  dar'  to  say  thet  1'se 


JERRY.  ioi 

a  beggar  an'  dirty — jest  you  dar'  to  say  it,  an' 
I'll  jest  gouge  youuns'  eyes  plum  out,"  giving  Paul's 
nose  a  little  tweak. 

"  I  will  kill  you  !  "  Paul  cried  in  a  fury,  trying  in 
vain  to  free  his  arms  from  where  Jerry  pinned  them 
with  his  knees,  "  damn  you  !  let  me  get  up — I'll 
tell  the  doctor — I'll  have  you  put  in  jail — I'll  kill 
you  !  " 

"When  you  gits  up,"  Jerry  answered  quietly,  his 
success  having  restored  his  temper — "  but  1'se  agoin' 
to  set  right  har  atopper  you  tell  the  doctor  comes, 
I  is  ;  ef  you  'Hows  thet  I'm  agoin'  to  let  you  git 
up  an'  beat  me  agin,  you  is  got  the  wrong  pig  by 
the  leg  sure  ;  I  aint  agoin'  to  stir,  I  aint." 

"  Let  me  get  up,  I  say,"  and  Paul's  voice  sounded 
constrained,  for  a  dreadful  thought  had  come  to  him — 
suppose  the  servants  should  find  him  in  this  horrible 
position  !  and  his  pride  put  its  flag  at  half-mast : — 
"  I  will  not  touch  you,  I  promise," — then  one  step 
lower — "  I  will  pay  you,  Jerry,  just  let  me  get  up  ?  " 
pleadingly — "and  I  will  never  say  a  word  about  it." 

"  An'  you'll  take  back  what  you  cussed  me  ? " 
gravely. 

"  Yes." 

"  An'  'bout  the  doctor  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  don't  much  keer,"  patronizingly,  "  git  up," 
and  Jerry  sprang  nimbly  from  off  his  fallen  enemy, 
"but  don't  youuns  never  furgit  this  dirty  beggar," 
with  stinging  sarcasm,  "  an'  thet  trick  of  ketchin'  a 
feller  roun'  the  legs  is  a  rale  good  un,  you  bet  ;  a  boy 
'cross  the  mounting  tole  me  thet ;  its  been  a  long  time, 
but  I  aint  never  f  urgitted  it,  an'  to-day  it  come  in  rale 
handy,"  but  Paul  had  gone  in  silent,  unspeakable 
rage,  slamming  the  door  after  him. 

What  a  black  disgrace  !  How  could  he  ever  revenge 
it — how  could  a  gentleman  retaliate  on  this  little  vag- 
abond— this  vagabond  he  had  waited  to  see  ?  "  But 
I'll  pay  him  off  if  it  takes  my  whole  life,"  and  locking 


102  JERRY. 

the  door  of  his  room,  he  cast  himself  down  on  his 
bed  and  cried  like  a  girl. 

And  in  the  study  Jerry  was  putting  the  chairs 
straight,  and  shaking  his  head  in  a  threatening  way 
as  he  swept  the  hearth.  He  was  too  much  excited  to 
study,  and  at  the  same  time  very  much  pleased  by  the 
realization  of  his  newly  discovered  strength. 

"  I  gits  it  a-cuttin'  wood,"  he  said,  feeling  his  arms, 
"  an'  I'll  git  some  mo'  cause  it  come  in  rale  handy," 
then  he  sat  down  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  chin  in  his  hands,  gazing  into  the  fire. 

What  kind  of  person  was  this  boy  he  had  whipped — 
who  was  he,  and  where  did  he  come  from,  and  what 
made  him  so  fine  ? 

He  talked  like  the  doctor,  and  his  Jiands  and  his 
voice  were  like  a  child's — what  was  it  that  made  them 
so  different  ?  they  were  both  boys. 

"  An'  he  looked  at  me  like  I  was  a  dorg,  he  did," 
the  color  coming  into  his  face  again,  "  but  I  punched 
hisn's  nose  good,  I  did  ;  but  he's  rale  purty — rayly 
purty,"  thoughtfully,  as  Paul's  fair  face  came  up  be- 
fore him.  Still,  he  shook  his  head  as  he  said — "  It's 
rale  purty,  but  thar's  a  leak  sommers,"  and  he  could 
not  like  it. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

"  The  true  gods  sigh  for  the  cost  and  tKe  pain — 
For  the  reed  that  grows  never  more  again — 
As  a  reed  with  the  reeds  of  the  river." 

AND  the  doctor,  coming  in  with  an  open  letter  in  his 
hand,  sat  down  as  if  worn  with  a  weariness  deeper 
than  that  of  body,  and  closed  his  eyes  with  but 
one  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  boy.  Jerry  sat  quite 
still. 

What  ailed  the  doctor  ?  and  anxiously  watching  him 
all  thought  of  Paul  and  the  recent  fray  passed  from 
his  mind. 

Was  the  doctor  sick — was  he  going  to  die  like  'Lije 
Milton  ?  and  a  great  terror  came  over  the  child.  To 
die  like  'Lije  Milton: — the  doctor  die — then  the  wider 
question,  must  everybody  die?  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  before,  this  idea,  and  who  would  bury  the  last 
one  ? 

But  the  doctor,  who  saved  every  one;  what  would 
become  of  all  the  people  if  he  should  die  ? 

Maybe  he  was  dead  now  !  And  the  boy  was  afraid 
to  move,  while  his  heart  was  rising  up  within  him, 
swelling  with  this  great  imaginary  pain. 

"  I'll  jest  die  too, "and  in  his  preoccupation  he  said 
the  words  aloud,  rousing  the  doctor,  who  opened  his 
eyes  with  a  sigh. 

"  What  is  it,  Jerry  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  were  feared  you  were  dead,"  was  answered 
hesitatingly,  "an'  I  'llowed  I'd  die  too." 

"  Not  just  yet  for  either  of  us,"  and  the  doctor  held 
out  his  hand  for  the  book.  Then  suddenly  it  came  to 
Jerry's  mind  that  he  did  not  know  his  lesson,  and  he 

103 


104  JERRY. 

began  to  feel  anxious  about  the  affair  with  Paul — what 
would  the  doctor  say  ? 

"  I  don't  reckon  1  knows  it,"  he  began,  not  for  one 
moment  doubting  that  confession  was  a  necessity. 

«  Well." 

"  Well,"  slowly,  "  thar  were  a  feller  in  here  when  I 
come — a  rale  purty  feller,"  gravely,  "  an'  he  says,  says 
'ee,  '  Does  you  love  lessings  ? '  says  I,  '  I  do  ; '  says 
'ee,  '  What  do  the  doctor  do  when  you  don't  knows 
'un? ' — says  I, '  He  says,  Jerry,  try  agin,' — says  'ee  '  The 
doctor  looks  at  me  liker  meat-axe,'  says'ee,  '  an'  mos' 
chucks  the  book  at  my  head,' — says  I, '  I  don't  b'lieve 
it,"  his  face  beginning  to  color  with  the  recent  excite- 
ment ;  "  then  I  f  urgits  rightly  what  corned  next,  'cause 
I  were  so  mad  ;  but  he  cussed  me  a  dirty  beggar,  he 
did,"  his  fists  involuntarily  doubling  themselves,  "  an' 
I  ups  an'  knocks  him  in  the  mouth,  I  did,  an'  he 
licked  me  liker  dorg  !  " 

"  What  ? "  and  the  doctor  sat  up  straight  in  his 
chair  as  the  long  story  climaxed  so  astonishingly. 

"  Don't  git  skeered,"  and  Jerry  put  his  hand  reas- 
suringly on  the  doctor's  shoulder,  "  I  never  hurted 
him  much;  I  jest  tripped  him  up  an'  sot  on  him,  I 
did,  an'  I  punched  hisn's  nose  till  he  asked  me  please 
to  git  up,  he  did  ;  but  1  never  hurted  him  much." 

The  doctor  was  smiling  now,  a  smile  that  broke 
over  his  face  as  the  sunlight  breaks  through  a  cloud, 
and  lighted  up  and  transfigured  every  line  of  it, 
making  it  look  as  it  must  have  done  in  his  youth  when 
all  the  untried,  beautiful  years  and  days  lay  before 
him  where  to  choose ;  then  his  face  became  grave 
once  more  and  the  lines  about  his  lips  hardened  as 
the  thought  came  to  him — "  Would  Paul  tell  him  of 
this  difficulty?"  he  thought  not,  Paul  told  him 
nothing. 

"  I  do  not  suppose  that  you  did  hurt  him,"  he  be- 
gan coldly,  "  but  I  do  not  like  it,  and  you  must  not 
fight  in  my  house:  as  long  as  you  are  here,  Jerry,  you 
must  behave  like  a  gentleman." 


JERRY  105 

"What's  thet  ?"  quietly. 

Again  a  smile  flitted  across  the  doctor's  lips  ;  the 
boy  was  so  unconscious,  and  he  answered — 

"  I  am  a  gentleman." 

Jerry  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  a  curious 
wonder  growing  in  his  eyes. 

"  An'  you  'How  as  I  kin  be  like  youuns  ?  "  draw- 
ing a  long  breath  ;  "  nary  time,  an'  it's  no  use  a-tryin' 
it ;  you  kin  jest  as  easy  make  a  hick'ry  stick  outer 
sourwood,  jest  as  easy,"  then  more  slowly,  "  but  I'd  like 
to,"  and  his  patient  eyes  looked  wistfully  at  his  friend. 

"  We  must  try,  Jerry,"  and  the  doctor  laid  his  hand 
kindly  on  the  boy. 

"  I  will,"  the  narrow  face  lighting  up  in  its  earnest- 
ness. "  I'll  jest  do  ever  blessed  thing  you  says,  I 
will,"  and  a  new  future,  a  grand,  overwhelming  pos- 
sibility, opened  before  the  child. 

To  be  like  the  doctor  :  a  thought  that  had  only 
dimly  dawned  on  him  when  the  question  came  up  of 
his  learning  to  read  ;  that  had  never  been  a  defined 
thought,  but  only  a  glimmer  of  light  that  for  one  in- 
stant had  shone  and  faded.  And  now  it  had  been  put 
before  him  not  only  as  a  possibility, but  as  an  expecta- 
tion and  an  end  set  for  him  by  the  exemplar  himself ! 

Jerry  drew  a  long  breath  as  he  stood  there  trying 
to  realize  this  great  thing  :  stood  there  rough  and  un- 
trained, ignorant  and  a  pauper,  and  set  this  end  before 
himself.  Heretofore  he  had  been  one  of  many  who 
only  lived  from  day  to  day  ;  to  whom  life  is  an  acci- 
dent that  for  some  is  smooth,  and  for  some,  rough  : 
now  he  had  begun  another  journey  with  an  end  that 
seemed  far  more  impossible  to  him  than  the  "  Golden 
Gates,"  had  seemed.  To  try  to  be  something,  to  try 
to  rise,  presented  a  far  more  vague  and  intangible 
outline  to  him  than  the  effort  to  reach  some  place  had 
done.  A  realization  of  this  future  was  impossible, 
and  he  came  back  to  the  original  suggestion  as  to 
something  he  conlcl  take  hold  of.  He  knew  the 
doctor  ;  every  day  he  saw  him,  touched  him,  spoke  to 


Io6  JERRY. 

him  ;  and  he  could  grasp  this  first  proposition  of  try- 
ing to  be  like  him. 

"  An'  I  will,"  he  said,  speaking  aloud  as  if  he  were 
alone,  "  I  will  if  it  kills  me." 

And  that  night  when  the  bitter  wind  howled  up  and 
down  the  mountains,  driving  the  snow  until  it  banked 
high  against  Joe's  little  house;  and  Joe  in  front  of 
the  roaring  fire  smoked,  and  told  of  dark  danger  in 
the  heavy  snows, — Jerry  sitting  there  scarcely  heard, 
for  he  was  looking  at  his  future  in  the  flames,  and 
wondering.  And  in  the  midst  of  the  most  thrilling  of 
the  stories  he  got  up  from  where  he  squatted  on  the 
hearth,  and  drew  a  chair  forward. 

Joe  paused. 

"  I  Hows  as  youuns  aint  a-listenin',"  he  said  in  a 
rather  injured  tone. 

"  Yes,  I  is,"  and  Jerry  seated  himself  in  the  chair 
gravely,  "  but  I  'Hows  as  I'd  ruther  hev  a  cheer  ;  the 
doctor  don't  never  sit  on  the  flo' ;  leastways,  I  aint 
never  sawn  him  a-doin'  it." 

"  The  Lord  hev  mussy  !  "  and  for  many  minutes 
Joe  sat  silent,  regarding  his  small  companion  with 
doubtful  looks.  "  Air  youuns  crazy,  Jeremiah  P. 
Wilkerson  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  "  jest  plum  crazy  ?" 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  The  doctor  'Hows  as  I  mus'  be  a  gentleman,"  he 
answered,  "  jest  like  him  ezackly  ;  an'  I  will,"  nod- 
ding his  head  complacently,  "  I  will  if  it  kills  me  !  " 

"  An'  the  doctor  'Hows  to  give  youuns  a  good  bury- 
in'  ?  "  Joe  asked  with  solemn  sarcasm. 

"  I  never  axed  him,"  Jerry  answered  literally  ;  and 
as  he  hitched  his  heavy  boot-heels  on  the  rung  of  the 
chair,  a  mild  sense  of  self-approval  swept  over  him 
that  was  like  a  breath  of  summer  air  ;  and  he  did  not 
know  that  Joe's  story  remained  unfinished,  the  narra- 
tor smoking  slowly  and  in  silence,  only  now  and  then 
glancing  at  his  preoccupied  companion. 

"Thet  boy  air  a  cur'us  one,  sure,"  Joe's  thoughts 
ran,  "  a  reg'lar  nubbin." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  As  to  the  assertion  that  no  amount  of  evidence  could  establish 
the  supernatural,  we  ask  in  amazement,  '  On  what  is  the  super- 
natural based  ?  Does  it  rest  on  anything  higher  than  the  idle 
habit  of  mind  induced  by  the  observation  of  constant  recurrences  ?  '  " 


fight  with  Paul  was  a  great  event  in  Jerry's 
life,  and  Joe  chuckled  over  it  with  much  satis- 
faction, being  proud  of  Jerry's  "  sperret." 

"  An'  the  wuss  youuns  air,  Jerry,  the  wusser  hisn's 
lickin'  air,"  he  had  said  more  than  once  ;  but  this 
triumph  was  soon  overshadowed  by  an  occurrence  of 
solemn  portent. 

It  was  going  to  be  a  bitter  winter  ;  everybody  said 
so,  and  Joe  had  stopped  work  some  time  before  to 
make  preparation  for  it.  Jerry  worked  with  him 
heartily  enough  ;  coming  home  from  the  beloved 
lessons  an  hour  earlier  that  he  might  help  Joe  bring 
the  wood  up  from  the  gorges  where  the  pines  grew 
best  :  helping  him  build  a  sheltered  pen  for  the  three 
pigs  that  were  to  be  kept  and  killed  as  needed  :  help- 
ing him  make  a  bin  to  keep  the  meal  dry,  and  a  box 
in  which  to  pack  salt  beef. 

Jerry  rather  liked  it  ;  there  was  a  sense  of  plenty 
and  comfort  about  the  preparations  which  he  had 
never  experienced  before.  AH  winter  there  would 
be  enough  to  eat,  and  enough  to  wear,  and  wood  to 
warm  them.  All  this  his  father  could  have  done,  the 
boy  thought,  but  he  never  had,  and  the  winters  had 
been  black  times  of  terror  to  .him  and  his  mother. 

But  he  said  nothing  to  Joe  about  this  ;  drew  no 
comparisons  ;  for  already  he  was  imbibing  some  idea 
of  keeping  faith  since  once  the  doctor  had  said  to 
him  —  "  You  should  remember  you  are  speaking  of 

107 


lo8  JERRY. 

your  father  " — and  the  boy  had  felt  his  face  grow 
very  hot  :  he  did  not  realize  why,  but  since  then  he 
had  not  talked  about  his  home  nor  his  old  life.  In- 
deed, he  abhorred  the  thought  of  it,  for  gradually 
there  was  growing  on  him  the  knowledge  of  the  fact 
that  his  mother  had  died  for  him.  Sometimes  he 
would  sit  up  quite  still  in  the  night  with  his  little 
bundle  held  close  in  his  arms,  and  try  not  to  long  to 
kill  his  father,  try  not  to  curse  him  and  the  great 
brutal  woman  who  was  now  his  wife.  For,  living  with 
the  doctor  day  after  day,  he  was  gathering  to  himself 
a  more  clear  and  distinct  understanding  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  of  the  vast  difference  existing  between  the 
doctor  and  the  people  about  him  ;  he  was  making 
every  effort  to  imitate  and  follow  him  in  all  things, 
and  his  love  for  this  man  was  boundless.  But  grow- 
ing up  with  this  adoring  love  he  bore  for  his  hero, 
there  was  a  deep  grievance  and  bitterness  :  it  was  the 
doctor's  love  for  Paul  that  Jerry  had  learned  to  watch 
for  and  suffer  from  ;  for  Jerry  hated  Paul.  The  slow, 
cool  scorn  with  which  Paul  looked  at  him  ; — the  man- 
ner in  which  he  stood  aside  to  let  Jerry  pass,  as  if  the 
danger  of  touching  him  was  to  be  avoided — the  way 
in  which  he  vacated  the  library  whenever  Jerry  en- 
tered, was  too  much  to  be  endured  without  breeding  a 
hatred  deep  and  lasting.  But  if  Jerry  had  known  it, 
Paul  had  also  a  great  pain  :  if  only  it  would  not  be 
beneath  him  to  whip  this  little  cur — this  wretched 
little  pauper  who  had  dared  to  fight  and  overcome 
him  ;  and  beyond  was  always  the  dreadful  doubt — 
"  Did  the  doctor  know  ?  " 

So  the  bitter  feeling  grew  between  the  boys,  and 
Jerry's  wonder  as  to  the  connection  between  Paul  and 
the  doctor  became  one  of  the  chief  problems  of  his 
life — for  he  could  not  touch  Paul  if  the  doctor  "  sot 
much  sto'  "  by  him. 

He  would  have  liked  to  have  asked  the  doctor  about 
it,  but  the  same  feeling  that  now  made  him  keep  quiet 
about  his  own  affairs  made  him  hesitate  about  asking 


JERRY.  109 

questions.  So  he  only  watched  that  he  might  learn 
with  certainty  what  the  feeling  was  between  these  two. 
And  the  watching  made  him  heavy-hearted  ;  for  there 
was  something  in  each  that  he  could  not  understand 
nor  copy,  and  they  could  talk  of  things  of  which  he 
knew  nothing  ;  yet  Paul  was  only  a  boy. 

But  there  was  always  a  brisk  change  when  Jerry 
went  back  to  the  little  house  under  the  rocks.  Joe  was 
always  there  before  him  now,  working  busily  and 
whistling  the  one  straight,  endless  tune  they  had  in 
common. 

Each  day  the  journeys  for  wood  were  made,  until  the 
piles  grew  so  high  that  Jerry  thought  they  would  last 
forever.  But  Joe  knew  better,  and  worked  day  by  day 
while  Jerry  was  in  the  settlement,  and  after  Jerry  came 
home,  far  into  the  late  evening.  At  last  the  stacks 
had  grown  high  enough  even  for  Joe,  and  as  the 
covered  pen  was  ready,  Joe  proposed  that  they  should 
go  for  the  pigs  before  another  fall  of  snow. 

"  It'll  be  a  heavy  one  when  it  do  come,"  he  said, 
looking  at  the  clouds  that  were  gathering  ;  clouds  of 
deathlike,  ghastly  white,  "  an'  the  devil  couldn't  drive 
them  pigs  up  these  rocks  then." 

So  Jerry  came  home  earlier  than  usual,  and  they 
set  off. 

"  Jim  Martin  lives  nigh  ole  Burden's  mine,"  Joe 
said,  "  an'  you  kin  jest  tuck  a  leetle  spy  in  the  hole, 
Jerry." 

Jerry's  eyes  opened  very  wide. 
"  I'm  feared,"  he  answered,  forgetting  in  his  excite- 
ment that  the  doctor  had  told  him  to  say  '  afraid.' 

"  Most  folks  is,"  and  Joe  shook  his  head  mysteri- 
ously, "  but  I  'Hows  as  it  can't  hurt  you  jest  to 
peek  in  fur  a  minnit." 

"  An'  the  water  ?  "  Jerry  asked  in  a  low  tone. 
"  I  'How  it's  a-drappin  yit,"  Joe  answered,  "  an'  it'll 
keep  on  a-drappin'  tell  the  ]edgt/ient  day  ;  it  soun's 
powerful  creepy,  it  do." 

To  see  "ole  Burden's  mine  !  "  Jerry  felt  his  hair 


HO  JERRY. 

rise  up,  and  all  his  veins  tingle  ;  to  look  in,  and 
maybe  to  see  the  gold  glittering  on  the  walls  and  floor, 
as  he  thought  it  must, — to  hear  that  water  dropping 
all  day  and  all  night,  never  ceasing,  never  forming 
into  a  pool  or  stream  that  any  human  eye  had  seen. 
An  indefinable  trembling  came  over  him  as  he  tramped 
down  the  path  behind  Joe,  and  he  longed  for  yet 
feared  the  termination  of  the  afternoon. 

"  Thar's  Jim  Martin's,"  and  Joe  pointed  to  where  a 
thin  curl  of  smoke  floated  up  slowly  from  among  the 
rocks. 

"  Jim's  house  is  piled  thar  plum  aginst  the  rocks, 
it  are,  jest  fur  orl  the  worl'  liker  dirt-dauber's  hole  ; 
but  my  Nancy  Ann  'llowed  she  never  wanted  no  rock 
wall  to  ourn  house." 

"  I  keep  a-hean//o-  something,"  Jerry  interrupted, 
laying  great  stress  on  the  final  g,  which  he  found  much 
difficulty  in  pronouncing,  "  someth/'/^  a-roari/ig." 

"  It's  a  stream  as  comes  down  the  mounting  nigh 
the  mine,"  Joe  answered,  "  an'  it  falls  over  the  rocks 
jest  as  purty  !  " 

"  A  falls,"  Jerry  suggested,  feeling  quite  sure  he  had 
said  the  correct  thing. 

"  Falls,"  Joe  repeated,  "  the  doctor  names  it  thet 
too,"  he  went  on,  "  so  I  'Hows  as  youuns  is  correc* — a 
falls  ;  an'  you  kin  see  it  from  up  thar,  from  a  rock 
as  is  jest  ezackly  over  the  hole  of  Burden's  mine," 
stepping  a  little  aside  from  the  path  to  where  one 
rock  rose  higher  than  the  rest. 

Jerry  followed  eagerly  ;  a  short,  sharp  climb,  then 
he  heard  a  slow,  astonished  exclamation  from  Joe. 

"  Great-day-in-the-mornin'  !  " 

The  boy  leaned  forward  ;  and  there,  a  little  below 
the  level  of  the  peak  on  which  they  stood,  lying  on  a 
thin,  flat  slab  of  rock  that  projected  far  out  from  the 
dizzy  cliff,  was  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  Joe,"  looking  up  to  where  they  stood  above 
him. 

"  Evenin',  doctor,"  Joe  answered  ;  "  weuns  is  agoin' 


JERR  Y.  HI 

to  Jim  Martin's  atter  them  hogs,  an'  I  'Itowed  I'd  show 
Jerry  the  water." 

"  And  it  is  very  beautiful,"  the  doctor  said,  turning 
his  eyes  again  on  the  somber  gloom  of  the  scene  below 
them. 

On  all  sides  the  grim,  barren  rocks  darkening  down 
into  the  deep  gorge  where  the  crowding  pines  dimmed 
the  shadows  to  blackness  :  and  from  the  far  cliff  where 
the  light  lingered  longest,  down  from  rock  to  rock 
the  silver  water  falling  and  crying  aloud — holding  up 
"  white  pleading  hands — "  down  into  the  black  gorge 
and  out  to  lose  its  life  in  the  hot,  dry  plains. 

"  I  reckon  it's  sorry  to  come  down,"  the  child  said 
with  a  sigh  ;  and  the  doctor  turned  and  looked  at  the 
wistful  face  lifted  to  the  far  heights.  Had  the  boy 
read  his  thoughts — the  thoughts  that  came  to  him  like 
voices  from  his  own  life  as  he  lay  there  watching  the 
water  that  forever  was'falling  like  one  in  a  dream — 
forever  that  weary  cry  ! 

"  An'  Burden's  mine  is  down  thar,"  and  Joe  hold- 
ing by  a  broken  rock  leaned  over  and  pointed  to  where 
below  them  the  shadow  deepened  to  the  semblance  of 
a  black  hole.  His  voice  broke  harshly  on  the  silence, 
and  the  boy  sighed  once  more  and  looked  into  the  eyes 
of  the  man  below  him.  He  could  not  tell  what  he  saw 
there,  but  it  was  the  same  thing  that  made  him  sigh. 

"  An'  the  rock  youuns  is  on,  Doctor,  is  mighty  thin," 
Joe  went  on  as  he  stepped  back  to  where  Jerry  stood. 

"  It  has  held  me  many  times,"  the  doctor  answered 
slowly  ;  then  they  turned  and  left  him. 

To  Joe  it  was  the  place  where  the  "  water  came 
down  an'  looked  rale  purty  " — to  Jerry  it  was  a  place 
that  made  him  afraid — made  him  feel  as  he  had  done 
when  at  last  he  had  stood  on  the  greatest  height  he 
could  reach,  and  saw  the  sun  setting  across  the  plain  ; 
a  feeling  that  made  him  walk  in  silence  after  Joe,  and 
scarcely  heed  the  talk  of  Durden's  mine.  Yes,  he 
would  go  and  look,  what  matter  if  he  were  dragged  in 
to  perish  there  ;  it  would  be  better  than  this  feeling 


112  JERRY. 

he  could  not  understand.  The  doctor  understood,  for 
the  doctor  looked  into  his  eyes  sometimes,  and  even 
in  his  blind  ignorance  Jerry  could  see  and  know  the 
unuttered  longing. 

"  He's  lonesome  too,"  he  whispered  to  himself,  and 
followed  silently  down  to  where  the  black  hole  yawned. 

Darker  and  rougher  the  gorge  grew — the  path  nar- 
rowed to  the  merest  thread  of  a  track — then  there 
came  a  level  space  covered  with  piles  of  debris  from 
the  mine,  and  through  the  broad  cutting  in  the  pines 
that  once  had  been  the  road  could  be  seen  the  vil- 
lage of  Burden's,  that  had  grown  from  the  few  min- 
ers' huts  that  at  first  had  congregated  around  "  Dur- 
den's  find  ";  and  near  by,  the  stream  that  fell  so  far, 
fretted  and  fumed  in  the  artificial  channel  which  the 
old  miners  had  cut  for  it. 

"  They  says  thet  the  water  rtinned  right  in  har," 
Joe  explained  as  they  stood  in  front  of  the  mine,  "  an' 
ole  Burden  got  the  fust  gole  outer  the  water  ;  alter 
thet  he  foun'  it  in  the  rock,  he  did,  an'  he  jest  sot  to 
work  an'  dug  a  ditch  over  yon  for  the  water,  an'  dug 
in  the  cave  fur  the  gole." 

Then  he  led  the  boy  nearer  and  nearer,  picking  his 
way  carefully  over  the  rocks  and  rotting  logs  that  were 
strewn  about  the  opening  of  the  deserted  mine,  down 
into  a  sort  of  basin,  where  they  paused  and  looked  up 
to  the  slab  far  above  them  on  which  the  doctor  lay  ; 
and  it  looked  so  high  and  thin,  such  a  precarious  rest- 
ing place  ! 

A  few  steps  further,  and  the  blackness  of  darkness 
gathered  about  them. 

"  Listen  !  "  Joe  whispered,  pausing. 

There  was  the  sharp  rattle  of  the  stone  they  had 
dislodged  that  rolled  somewhere  into  the  darkness  ; 
then  through  the  silence  came  the  drip  of  far-off 
water — slow — heavy,  regular,  save  that  now  and  then 
there  came  a  double  sound  as  though  too  much  had 
gathered  for  one  drop — a  quick,  irregular  sound  like 
the  catch  in  a  sob  or  a  sigh. 


JERRY.  H3 

The  boy  stood  very  still  ;  the  silence  and  the  dark- 
ness seemed  to  grow  about  him  and  the  sound  of  the 
dropping  water  seemed  to  rise  and  swell,  then  to  fade 
and  die  like  some  creature  crying  !  He  was  awe- 
stricken — he  was  afraid  to  stir — even  to  raise  his  hand 
to  touch  Joe  who  stood  so  near  !  Like  one  in  a  night- 
mare who  could  not  move  nor  cry  ! 

Great  drops  of  sweat  gathered  on  his  temples — he 
trembled  like  a  leaf  in  the  wind  !  was  there  anything 
back  there  in  the  darkness  ? — anything  coming  toward 
him — anything  ? — that  drawn,  white  face  he  had  seen 
in  the  coffin  !  The  dead  eyes  were  open  and  staring 
at  him — something  touched  him  ! 

A  wild  cry  broke  from  his  lips,  and  turning  he  fled 
up  the  rugged  opening — falling,  scrambling,  breath- 
less, until  he  lay  sobbing  under  the  ghastly  white  light 
from  the  snow-clouds  ;  hiding  his  eyes  and  crying  with 
sharp,  quick  gasps. 

"  Great-day-in-the-mornin'  !  "  and  Joe  stood  over 
the  trembling  child  in  much  wonder  "  I  jest  teched 
you,  an'  sicher  holler  I  never  hearn — what  ails  you, 
anyhow  ?  "  trying  to  raise  the  boy,  "  thar  warn't  noth- 
in'  to  skeer  you." 

"  I  seen  him — I  seen  him  !  "  Jerry  answered  be- 
tween his  sobs — "  I  seen  'Lije  Milton  !  " 

Joe  sat  down  on  a  rock  overcome. 

"'Lije  Milton?"  he  repeated  slowly — "an"  Lije 
never  b'lieved  as  he'd  git  up  agin  !  " 

No  doubts  of  the  fact  crossed  his  mind  ;  no  ques- 
tion as  to  how  or  why  ;  that  Jerry  had  seen  'Lije  Mil- 
ton was  a  simple  fact  which  proved  to  his  mind  that 
the  dead  hero  did  not  sleep  in  peace  and  quiet. 

Gradually  the  sobs  died  away,  and  Jerry  lifted  him- 
self as  one  exhausted. 

"  Less  us  go,"  he  said,  "  less  git  away  from  this 
place,"  and  Joe  followed  obediently. 

Jerry,  somehow,  was  taking  rank  above  him,  and 
this  last  revelation  raised  him  into  something  of  a  hero. 

All  the  slow  way  home  they  were  silent,  except  for 


H4  JERRY. 

the  orders  and  cries  to  the  hogs  that  were  inclined  to 
wander  in  their  going.  Neither  at  supper  was  there 
any  conversation,  and  it  was  not  until  Joe  had  smoked 
one  pipe,  and  had  fairly  started  on  another,  that  he 
broke  the  silence. 

"  It  were  surely  cur'us,  Jerry,"  he  began,  gravely, 
"  thet  I've  been  agoin'  there  a  heaper  times,  an'  never 
sawn  ner  hearn  nothin'  ceppen  the  water  a-drappin' — 
naryer  thing  ceppen  thet,  an'  thar's  sumpen  in  it  sure 
— jest  sure,"  looking  solemnly  at  his  companion,  who, 
in  a  chair  opposite,  gazed  steadily  into  the  fire,  "  thar's 
sumpen  in  it,"  he  repeated,  "  fur  it  stan's  to  reason 
thet  'Lije  wouldn't  hev  come  fur  nothin'  :  thar's  some- 
thin'  onlucky  'bout  thet  place  fur  youuns,  Jerry,  thet's 
what  it  means,"  decisively,  "  an'  you  hed  jest  better 
keep  clar  of  thet  hole." 

"  I  will,"  Jerry  answered,  drawing  his  sleeve  across 
his  nose,  "  I'll  never  go  nighst  it  agin,  you  bet — I 
mean  again,"  he  corrected  himself. 

"  Agin  or  again,"  Joe  repeated,  "  don't  make  no 
diffrunce  to  me  ;  I  aint  pertickler  'bout  sich  leetle 
trash  as  thet,  but  don't  you  go  anigh  Durden's  ; 
mebbe  thar's  a  heaper  gole  thar,  but  it  aint  fur 
youuns,"  pushing  the  fire  into  a  brighter  blaze,  "an* 
I  feels  a  kinder  all-overish  when  I  'members  how 
youuns  screeched  when  I  jest  barly  teched  you  ; 
sposen  you  gits  yer  leetle  book  an'  read  a  spell," 
throwing  another  log  on  the  mass  of  coals,  "  it'll  be 
sorter  cheerfuller  to  read  'bout  the  leetle  boy  as  got 
the  fly  in  hisn's  eyes,"  then  more  slowly,  "  but  it  beats 
me  how  he  done  it." 

"  The  doctor  said  it  was  the  words  he  wanted  to 
larn  me,"  Jerry  answered,  as  he  took  his  book  down 
from  a  shelf,  "  I  spec  it  aint — it  is  not  for  rayly  true." 
Joe's  English  was  demoralizing,  and  Jerry  puzzled 
sorely  over  his  words,  speaking  slowly  and  correcting 
himself  when  he  remembered.  And  Joe  was  very 
lenient,  treating  these  efforts  as  signs  of  the  weakness 
of  Jerry's  intellect. 


JERRY, .]  H5 

"  Jest  please  yerself  'bout  words,  Jerry,"  he  said 
kindly;  "  I  don't  rayly  hev  no  feelin'  agin  one  word  or 
ernether  ;  it's  orl  one  to  me,  jest  so  I  kin  on'erstan' 
youuns  ;  now  jest  pole  erlong  'but  thet  boy  an' 
hisn's  fly." 

So  Jerry  found  the  place  and  read  slowly  and 
earnestly,  holding  the  book  to  catch  the  firelight. 
And  Joe  listened  with  much  satisfaction,  a  look  of 
pride  growing  in  his  eyes  as  he  watched  the  child  ; 
and  when  the  page  was  turned  Jerry  paused,  as  he 
always  did,  to  show  Joe  the  picture. 

"  It's  jest  as  naytral,"  bending  his  gray  head  over 
the  poor  woodcut,  "  thar's  the  leetle  boy,  an'  thar's 
hisn's  fly — a  rale  big  'un — an'  it's  flewed  away,  it  lies." 

" '  The  fly  is  out  of  my  eye,'  "  Jerry  read  in  a  sort  of 
recitative. 

"  It  jest  is,"  Joe  commented,  "  an'  thet's  what  I  said, 
it  flewed  away." 

It  was  more  cheerful,  the  reading,  and  their  spirits 
rose  in  a  measure  ;  but  when  bed-time  came,  Jerry, 
by  Joe's  advice,  brought  his  blankets  and  spread  them 
close  by  Joe's  bed  ;  and  once  or  twice  in  the  night 
Joe  got  up  to  put  more  wood  on  the  fire,  and  waked 
the  boy  to  tell  him  to  "  quit  a-cryin'  so  pitterful." 

The  darkness  and  the  sobs  together  were  more  than 
Joe  could  bear,  and  the  next  morning  it  was  deter- 
mined that  Jerry  should  ask  the  doctor  about  his 
vision  in  the  mine. 

Jerry's  heart  was  very  heavy  as  he  trudged  away  to 
the  doctor's,  for  with  the  feeling  that  his  mother  was 
always  near  him — the  feeling  that  had  given  him  so 
much  comfort — there  was  mingling  now  the  mystery 
of  the  dead  who  walked  the  earth  because  they  were 
not  easy  in  their  graves.  Joe  believed  it  firmly  ;  and 
yesterday,  had  he  not  seen  'Lije  Milton  with  his  own 
eyes?  And  was  his  mother  wandering  like  this ? 

She  had  died  for  him. 

"  If  she  had  let  Dad  bust  my  head  agin  the  chimbly 
her'd  a-been  a-livin'  right  now,"  and  he  drove  his  hands 


Il6  JERRY.  v 

deeper  into  the  cavernous  pockets  of  his  coat, — Joe's 
coat  that  Paul  had  laughed  at.  His  heart  was  heavy, 
yet  with  it  there  was  a  feeling  of  importance  that  sus- 
tained him  ;  'Lije  Milton  had  come  to  warn  him  !  And 
he  held  himself  a  little  more  erect. 

The  fire  burned  brightly  in  the  study,  and  the 
doctor  was  there  when  Jerry  entered. 

"  Well,  Jerry,"  he  said,  then  returned  to  the  book 
he  was  reading,  so  that  the  questions  which  hung  on 
Jerry's  tongue  had  to  be  put  away  until  the  lessons, 
which  were  done  mechanically  that  day,  were  over. 

"We  shall  have  some  heavy  snows,"  the  doctor  said 
when  they  had  finished,  "  and  you  may  not  be  able  to 
come  every  day,  Jerry,  so  I  have  arranged  copies  and 
lessons  which  you  can  do  at  home  on  the  days  when 
the  weather  is  too  bad." 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  I'm  very — "  pausing  doubtfully — 
"  much  obliged  to  you,"  the  doctor  suggested  gravely. 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,"  Jerry  repeated,  then  added 
quickly,  "  I  rayly — rayly  are  !  "  as  if  the  copied  words 
did  not  satisfy  him,  nor  express  his  gratitude. 

The  doctor  smiled,  then  asked  kindly  : 

•l  Did  you  get  your  hogs  home  safely  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  and,  doctor,"  feeling  that  the  time  for 
his  revelation  had  come,  "  I  went  into  Burden's 
mine,"  his  eyes  growing  wide  as  he  spoke. 

"  Well." 

The  boy  paused  ;  with  the  doctor  listening,  the 
story  seemed,  somehow,  to  lose  all  importance. 

"  It  is  the  truth,  doctor,"  then  in  the  excitement 
that  came  over  him,  he  returned  to  his  own 
special  English  :  "  Yes,  sir,  sure  as  I  stan'  afore 
you,  I  sawn  'Lije  Milton — I  did,  an'  Joe  'Hows  as 
he  come  to  tell  me  thet  the  gole  in  Burden's  mine 
aint  fur  me." 

"Bid  you  expect  to  buy  Burden's  mine?"  the 
doctor  asked  quietly. 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  sir." 


JERRY.  117 

"  Then  why  should  'Lije  Milton  come  back  to  tell 
you  that  you  must  not  have  it  ?  " 

Jerry  looked  doubtful. 

"Joe  said  so." 

"  Well,  Joe  is  mistaken  :  nobody  can  work  Burden's 
mine  unless  they  first  buy  it,  and  it  will  take  a  great 
deal  of  money  to  do  that." 

"  Is  Durden's  mine  full  of  gole  ?  "  the  boy  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  the  doctor  answered,  "  I  have 
never  examined  it,  but  they  say  the  new  mine  is  much 
better." 

"  An'  I  never  sawn  'Lije  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  you  did,  Jerry,"  and  the  doctor 
smiled  kindly  on  him. 

"  Well,  farwell,"  looking  up  longingly  into  the  face 
above  him,  "  mebbe  I  can't  git  back  to-morrow." 

"  Good-by,  Jerry,"  holding  out  his  hand. 

The  boy  took  it  reverently,  and  looked  at  it  almost 
adoringly  ;  then  for  an  instant  his  hold  on  it  tightened 
and  he  raised  his  eyes — 

"You  goes  to  thet  rock  a-heaper  times?"  he 
asked. 

"  The  rock  over  Durden's?  "  with  some  curiosity  in 
his  tone. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Very  nearly  every  day,"  waiting  for  what  the 
child  would  say  next. 

There  was  a  pause,  then  still  holding  the  doctor's 
hand  Jerry  drew  a  little  nearer. 

"  Joe  says  it's  awful  thin,"  pleadingly,  "  an'  you'll 
fall,  please,  doctor?  " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  You  and  Joe  need  not  be  anxious,"  he  said,  "  that 
rock  will  outlast  me." 

Jerry  turned  to  the  door — 

"  Farwell,"  he  repeated,  "  but  I'm  afraid  fur  you," 
then  the  door  was  shut,  and  the  sound  of  his  footsteps 
died  away  before  the  doctor  moved. 

It  had  been  so  long  since  any  one  had  cared — since 


Il8  JERRY. 

wistful  eyes  had  watched  for  good  or  ill  to  him — so 
long! 

Far  back  in  the  years  there  had  been  eyes  whose 
faithfulness  and  love  had  never  faltered  ;  eyes  that 
looked  at  him  now  from  out  the  shadows  when  the 
day  darkened — from  out  the  fire — from  out  his  books! 
Eyes  he  had  turned  away  from — eyes 

"  that  looked  into  his  eyes  with  smile 
That  said  '  be  strong,'  yet  covered  anxious  tears  the  while!  " 

So  long  !  And  now  these  humble  eyes  looked  up  and 
pleaded  for  his  safety — watched  lest  ill  should  come  to 
him — loved  him, — believed  in  him. 

Poor  little  waif  :  poor  little  ignorant  heart  still  half 
asleep  ;  was  it  kind  to  shake  it  free  of  dreams — to 
make  it  open  its  eyes  to  the  broad,  blinding  light  of 
knowledge — the  merciless  light  that  spared  nothing  ? 

The  fresh  shadowy  dawn  wherein  he  now  lived,  was 
it  not  better  ? 


CHAPTER    XV. 

"  Like  dry  and  flimsy  autumn  leaves  that  blow 
From  all  far  distances,  until  by  chance 
They  meet  and  rest  within  some  sheltered  spot  : 
So  lives  oft  come  together,  and  so  rest, 
Until  some  wilder  wind  sends  them  apart 
To  longer  wanderings  on  the  '  lonely  road.'  " 

THE  day  Jerry  came  home  from  the  doctor's  with 
his  bundle  of  books  and  copies  was  the  last  of 
the  open  weather,  and  the  winter  closed  in  with 
cruel  coldness. 

For  days  the  snow  fell :  the  world  lay  motionless  : 
no  sound  of  wind,  no  movement,  a  death-like  stillness 
while  the  snow-banks  grew  higher  and  higher — the  pine 
branches  drooped  and  cracked  sharply  under  the 
growing  weight — and  in  the  long,  bitter  nights  the 
beams  and  logs  of  the  house  groaned  and  strained — 
shuddering  as  with  a  sudden  blow  from  an  unseen 
hand. 

The  wild  creatures  roamed  and  cried  through  the 
dark  hours,  coming  nearer  to  man,  growing  fiercer  and 
bolder  in  their  hungry  need.  Each  day  as  the  door 
was  opened,  a  path  had  to  be  cleared  through  the  snow 
before  Joe  could  do  anything  toward  the  day's  work. 
Then  in  the  long  hours  when  Joe  was  gone,  Jerry 
lived  a  lonely  life  in  the  dark  house  with  window  and 
door  barred,  and  only  the  fire  and  Pete  for  light  and 
company.  Joe  taught  him  how  to  load  and  use  the 
rifle,  and  charged  him  not  to  hesitate  to  fire  on  man 
or  beast. 

He  fed  the  hogs  with  the  rifle  close  at  hand,  and 
watched  with  a  nervous  fascination  the  great  tracks 
that  day  by  day  came  about  the  house  ;  and  some- 

119 


120  JERRY. 

times  he  heard  the  creeping  footsteps  and  wild  cries 
as  he  sat  spelling  over  his  lessons  by  the  firelight. 

A  dreary  life,  until  one  day  Joe  brought  home  a 
window-frame  fitted  with  glass,  and  screwed  it  in  the 
window. 

"  You  kin  see  now,  Jerry,"  he  said,  "  an'  kin  read 
youuns'  leetle  books,"  and  the  boy  looked  up  very 
thankfully. 

After  that  he  worked  diligently,  sending  his  papers 
to  the  doctor  when  Joe  happened  to  pass  that  way, 
and  in  return  receiving  words  of  commendation,  and 
freshly  arranged  work.  And  in  the  long  evenings  he 
explained  to  his  friend  the  processes  by  which  he 
worked,  and  showed  him  all  his  papers,  until  over  Joe's 
manner  there  came  a  change.  He  treated  the  boy  so 
tenderly, — listened  to  his  words  and  explanations  so 
proudly,  and  when  Jerry  read  aloud  sat  silent  and 
admiring.  Out  among  his  friends  he  spoke  of  Jerry 
as  "  my  boy  " — and  made  allusions  to  the  future  when 
Jerry  should  stand  with  the  best. 

He  bought  the  boy  a  cot ;  toiling  up  the  slippery 
trail  with  it  on  his  back  ;  and  Jerry's  eyes  opened  wide 
with  delight  and  wonder.  Then  he  brought  a  new  book 
from  the  doctor,  and  made  a  little  shelf  for  Jerry  to 
keep  his  books  and  papers  on.  And  Jerry,  grown 
white  and  a  little  thin  from  his  winter's  captivity, 
looked  gravely  out  of  the  window,  and  wondered  what 
all  this  attention  from  Joe  meant. 

He  was  growing  very  silent  as  the  days  went  by, 
and  was  learning  to  brood  in  the  enforced  loneliness 
of  his  life. 

From  Joe  he  had  heard  all  that  he  knew  of  Paul  and 
his  connection  with  the  doctor  ;  that  Paul  was  the  son 
of  a  friend  who  in  dying  had  given  him  to  the  doctor, 
though  some  people  thought  that  Paul  was  enough  like 
the  doctor  to  be  his  own  :  that  Paul  was  very  rich,  and 
one  day  would  own  most  of  the  mine  in  Eureka  ;  and 
the  reason  Jerry  had  seen  so  little  of  him  during  his 
earlier  visits  to  the  doctor,  was  that  Paul  was  daily  in 


JERRY.  I2t 

Eureka  learning  from  the  engineer  all  about  the  mine 
and  mining. 

"  He'll  hev  a  heaper  gole  sure,"  Joe  had  said  thought- 
fully,— "but  I 'Hows  thet  thar's  some  as'll  hev  as 
much."  And  Jerry  had  listened  with  a  dull  pain  at 
his  heart. 

The  doctor  loved  Paul — the  doctor  worked  for 
Paul's  interests  ;  and  Paul,  a  rich  man,  would  pass 
Jerry  by  like  the  dust  in  the  road. 

It  was  a  bitter  thought  to  Jerry. 

It  was  not  often  during  the  long  winter  that  the  boy 
could  go  to  the  doctor  ;  but  each  time  he  came  home 
with  a  clearer  and  more  mortifying  knowledge  of 
his  own  deficiencies,  and  of  the  distance  that  lay 
between  even  Paul  and  himself — while  the  doctor 
seemed  hopelessly  far.  But  with  this  knowledge 
there  came  ever  a  firmer  determination  to  over- 
come all. 

He  worked  eagerly — carefully — unceasingly  ;  doing 
his  sums, — writing  his  copies  over  and  over,  and  read- 
ing his  few  books  until  he  knew  them  very  thoroughly. 
He  saved  and  spelled  out  every  scrap  of  newspaper 
that  came  into  his  hands,  storing  in  his  mind  a  strange 
medley  of  words  and  ideas  ;  while  through  and  over 
all  was  the  memory  of  the  doctor's  words  that  had 
taken  root  and  were  bearing  fruit  in  the  boy's  ways 
and  tones — the  suggestion  that  some  day  Jerry  could 
be  as  the  doctor  was.  He  thought  of  it  by  day,  and 
dreamed  of  it  by  night,  building  wonderful  castles  in 
the  air.  He  would  be  a  gentleman  some  clay,  and 
have  books  all  around  his  room ;  he  would  have 
clothes  such  as  Paul  had,  and  walk  and  talk  as  Paul 
did — only  he  would  be  stronger,  and  love  his  lessons, 
which  Paul  did  not.  But  one  thing  hurt  him — one 
thing  was  a  great  disappointment  to  him — he  could 
never  touch  Paul  again,  because  Paul  belonged  to  the 
doctor.  And  not  only  did  Paul  possess  the  doctor's 
love,  but  was  protected  by  it  from  any  revenge  in 
Jerry's  power.  He  could  never  touch  Paul  again,  even 


122  JERRY. 

though  he  had  a  feeling  that  Paul  did  not  love  the 
doctor — had  not  Paul  called  the  doctor  a  "  meat-axe  "  ? 

"  But  I  whipped  him  for  that,"  the  boy  would  say  to 
himself,  and  feel  startled  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice 
coming  back  to  him  from  the  empty  room.  Each  day 
he  tried  to  read  in  the  Bible  the  doctor  had  given  him, 
but  could  make  very  little  of  it  as  yet :  the  words  were 
strange  and  different  from  the  words  in  his  books,  and 
he  was  often  at  a  loss  to  understand  them.  But  here 
Joe  occasionally  was  able  to  give  him  unexpected 
help  ;  telling  him  roughly  and  vaguely  some  of  the 
stories  brought  to  his  mind  by  the  names  Jerry  spelled 
out. 

"  Adam  he  were  the  fust  man  as  ever  growed,"  he 
said,  "  an'  Eve  were  the  fust  woman,  an'  she  were 
made  outer  Adam's  bones,  she  were  ;  an'  youuns  kin 
read  an'  see  as  thet's  the  livin'  truth  :  an'  the  critters 
an'  the  yarbs  were  made  fust  to  gie  Adam  sumpen  to 
eat." 

"  But  the  '  Golding  Gates,'  "  Jerry  asked,  "  it  don't 
tell  about  that." 

Joe  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 

"  I  don't  ezackly  onderstan'  'bout  thet,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  allers  hearn  thet  the  Bible  telled  all  about  it  : 
I  knovved  a  preacher  onest  as  telled  me  a  heaper  tales, 
an'  he  'llowed  thet  they  corned  from  the  Bible  :  an'  the 
doctor  he  tole  my  leetle  Nan  'bout  the  good  place,  an' 
he  read  it  out  the  book  thet  thar  wornt  no  mo'  sufferin' 
thar,  ner  no  mo'  cryin'.  Lord  !  I'll  never  forgit  how 
he  sot  thar  an'  read  the  book  'tell  I'd  jest  as  lieve 
a-died  alonger  Nancy-Ann,"  looking  meditatively  into 
the  fire. 

And  Jerry,  never  thinking  of  turning  to  any  but  the 
first  part  of  the  book,  plodded  on  as  faithfully,  as 
trustfully  as  he  had  journeyed  toward  the  setting  sun 
because  his  mother  had  pointed  there  for  the  "  golden 
gates":  he  worked  his  way  through  verse  after  verse, 
with  full  intention  of  reading  the  whole  book  because 
the  doctor  had  given  it  to  him  as  his  guide  to  his  mother. 


JERRY.  123 

And  gazing  into  the  fire,  or  out  of  the  window,  he 
would  dream  and  wonder  without  ceasing — longing 
for  the  snow  to  be  over  and  the  spring  to  come.  He 
grew  to  love  old  Pete,  and  was  sorry  when  the  hogs 
were  killed  one  after  another,  even  though  they  lived 
like  princes  in  consequence  of  it,  having  plenty  of 
meat,  and  plenty  of  grease  for  their  bread. 

Jerry  had  never  lived  so  well  in  his  life,  and  he  ap- 
preciated all  his  comforts,  but  not  as  he  would  have 
done  a  year  ago  ;  for  he  wanted  now  something  more 
than  food  and  clothes.  In  that  little  time  he  had  been 
educated  up  to  unappeasable  wants,  and  the  beautiful, 
happy  time  when  he  could  be  satisfied,  was  forever  past. 

The  time  when  with  childish  eyes  we  look  no  further 
than  from  hour  to  hour ;  touching  mysteries  and 
wonders  as  the  butterflies  touch  the  flowers  ;  glad  for 
the  sunshine  ;  hearing  music  in  the  rain  ;  sleeping, 
and  dreaming  golden  dreams  through  the  dark  hours, 
until  Want  comes  to  us  held  in  the  arms  of  Knowl- 
edge— want  that  creeps  into  our  hearts  and  voices — 
looks  longingly  from  our  eyes — walks  with  us  all  our 
days,  until  death  stills  our  longing  with  a  friendly  hand 
upon  our  hearts. 

And  Joe  watched  and  wondered  :  was  it  "books  an' 
larnin'  "  made  the  boy  so  quiet  ;  made  him  grow  so 
tall,  and  slim,  and  white  ;  and  stand  looking  so  long 
and  so  silently  out  of  the  window  ? 

The  boy  was  changing  in  every  way,  and  between 
the  two  a  different  relationship  was  being  formed. 
Jerry  had  risen  to  a  great  height  in  Joe's  estimation, 
and  gradually  all  his  pride  and  love  had  centered  on 
the  boy.  "  My  boy  "  he  called  him,  and  had  a  growing 
ambition  concerning  him.  He  had  not  for  one  mo- 
ment forgotten  the  fight  between  Jerry  and  Paul,  and 
each  visit  he  paid  to  the  doctor,  in  carrying  back  Jerry's 
papers,  he  would  look  at  Paul  and  smile  in  a  way  to 
rouse  all  Paul's  ire. 

"  Jerry's  rale  well,"  he  would  say,  "  an'  gittin'  rale 
strong." 


124  JERRY. 

And  Paul  would  try  to  answer  unconcernedly,  but 
once  or  twice  he  found  the  doctor's  eyes  fixed  on  him 
with  a  criticising  look  in  them  that  was  anything  but 
calming  :  and  the  boy  took  Joe  into  his  list  of  hates. 

"  I  can  not  see  what  you  find  to  interest  you  in  that 
stupid  man  and  boy,"  he  said  to  the  doctor  one  day. 

"  Neither  of  them  are  stupid,"  the  doctor  answered, 
not  lifting  his  eyes  from  his  book,  "and  the  boy  is 
above  the  average  in  intellect :  he  is  learning  rapidly." 

"  And  what  good  will  his  learning  do  him  ?  "  scorn- 
fully. 

"  The  same  good  your  learning  will  do  you,  possibly 
more." 

"  More  good  !  "  haughtily  "  I  have  a  name  and  a 
fortune  to  support." 

"  And  Jerry  has  both  to  make,"  then  the  doctor 
returned  to  his  book. 

Paul  did  not  feel  that  he  could  say  anything  more 
just  then  ;  but  the  conversation  rankled  in  his  mind. 

That  Jerry  should  be  put  on  an  equality  with  him 
was  an  insult  hard  to  bear — but  that  Jerry  should  dare 
to  found  a  name  and  fortune  was  a  still  more  bitter 
thought.  He  would  brood  and  brood  over  the 
thought — sometimes  ending  with  an  oath — sometimes 
with  a  laugh  :  Jerry  should  work  in  his  mine  yet  ! 

But  he  told  the  doctor  none  of  this. 

So  the  winter  had  its  day  ;  a  long,  merciless  day 
that  seemed  to  have  no  end. 

And  many  folded  tired  hands  for  aye — and  many 
would  have  found  their  graves  a  warm  refuge.  Hard 
and  earnestly  the  doctor  worked  among  the  hovels  in 
Burden's  and  Eureka  ;  helping  in  money  and  words, 
and  skill.  No  weather  stopped  him — no  hardship 
seemed  to  turn  him  aside  ;  and  often  Joe  would  come 
home  and  tell  many  things  he  had  heard  of  the  doctor's 
devotion  to  the  people — a  devotion  he  could  not  under- 
stand. And  Jerry  minding  the  house  and  the  hogs 
up  on  the  mountain  ;  and  Paul  cursing  his  loneliness 
down  on  the  plain — both  wondered,  and  tried  to  find 


JERRY.  .    125 

some  reason  for  this  strange  and  uncalled-for  sacrifice 
of  time,  and  comfort,  and  money  ;  but  it  was  a  riddle 
neither  of  them  could  read  as  yet. 

Only  "  eyes  that  have  wept  see  clear  " — see  clear  and 
far  into  the  lives,  and  hopes,  and  sufferings  of  their 
fellows — only  eyes  that  have  wept  have  this  second- 
sight. 


PART  SECOND. 

"  Get  leave  to  work 

In  this  world, — 'tis  the  best  you  get  at  all  : 
For  God  in  cursing,  gives  us  better  gifts 
Than  men  in  benediction.     God  says,  '  Sweat 
For  foreheads,'  men  say  '  crowns  ';  and  so  we  are  crowned, 
Ay,  gashed  by  some  tormenting  circle  of  steel 
Which  snaps  with  a  secret  spring.     Get  work  ;  get  work; 
Be  sure  'tis  better  than  what  you  work  to  get." 


127 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  There  is  no  caste  in  blood, 
Which  runneth  of  one  hue,  nor  caste  in  tears 
Which  trickled  salt  with  all." 

A  RUMOR  had  come  to  Eureka, — a  rumor  that 
Eureka  was  to  have  a  railway,  and  the  town  was 
wild  with  excitement. 

So  many  years  had  rolled  by  without  one  ripple  to 
mark  their  going,  that  this  sudden  waking  up  seemed 
to  bewilder  the  people.  So  many  quiet  years  wherein 
Jerry  up  on  the  mountain-side,  and  Paul  in  the  valley, 
had  grown  and  developed  "  each  after  his  kind." 
Paul,  absorbed  in  himself — Jerry,  clinging  close  to  the 
aim  set  before  him  in  his  childhood,  absorbed  in 
dreams  grown  out  of  his  study  of  his  idealized  master, 
the  doctor.  Through  all  these  years  he  had  followed 
without  question  in  any  direction  the  doctor  had  indi- 
cated ;  had  plodded  eagerly  through  anything  the 
doctor  would  teach  him.  But  though  a  dreamer,  his 
education  had  opened  his  eyes  to  many  things  that  he 
would  gladly  have  ignored.  He  now  recognized  his 
own  class  very  distinctly  ;  he  realized  the  rank  from 
which  he  had  sprung,  and  looking  on  them  he  saw  the 
haggard,  stolid  drudges — the  weary,  dirty,  ignorant 
women — and  his  mother  had  been  such  as  these  ? 

He  hated  his  class  because  they  were  so  low,  and 
he  hated  himself  for  the  feeling  ;  he  hated  social 
grades  and  the  "  accident  of  birth,"  and  history  was 
to  him  a  black  record  of  injustice,  and  suffering,  and 
wrong  ;  a  narration  of  how  the  strong  crowded  down 
the  weak,  and  that  only  because  they  were  weak. 
And  at  last  his  dreams  took  shape,  and  to  himself 

129 


1 30  JERRY. 

he  seemed  to  come  down  out  of  the  clouds.  The 
doctor's  life-work  had  been  to  raise  humanity — his 
own  life-work  should  be  to  raise  his  class. 

Wrong  must  be  righted  ;  and  in  this  wide  western 
land,  where  all  had  equal  chances,  all  should  rise. 

The  Master  of  Mankind  had  come  down  to  earth 
to  lift  up  all  humanity — aye — and  had  been  murdered 
by  a  mob!  Even  so  ;  but  His  teachings  had  lived, 
and  through  eighteen  hundred  years  had  worked  and 
leavened  the  world  ;  and  now  the  time  had  come  for 
reform  ! 

And  what  higher  task  could  a  man  set  for  himself  ? 
surely  he  would  be  a  reformer. 

But  with  the  patronizing  patience  of  youth  he  deter- 
mined to  begin  humbly  :  he  would  show  that  he  was 
not  a  wild  theorizer  ;  he  would  be  practical  at  the 
start,  and  possible  all  through.  And  he  asked  the 
doctor's  advice  about  opening  a  free  school  in  Dur- 
den's,  for  he  had  decided  that  education  must  be  the 
first  step  in  reform. 

But  the  doctor  shook  his  head. 

"  Make  them  pay  you,  Jerry,"  he  said, "  if  it  is  only 
ten  cents  a  month  ;  putting  a  money  value  on  it  is  the 
only  way  to  make  them  appreciate  it." 

"But  many  of  them  are  too  poor  to  pay,"  the  young 
man  answered  slowly. 

"  None  are  too  poor  to  buy  tobacco  and  whisky," 
quietly;  "  besides,  you  are  old  enough  now  to  think  of 
making  your  own  living." 

Jerry  looked  up  quickly  with  the  blood  rising  slowly 
in  his  face,  as  the  doctor  went  on: 

"Joe  is  old  now,  and  he  has  done  a  great  deal  for 
you." 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  Jerry  answered  eagerly,  "  I 
was  too  young  to  know,  when  he  first  took  me  in,  and 
since  then  he  has  never  allowed  me  to  work  ;  my 
education  has  been  his  pride." 

"  Very  true,  and  it  all  has  been  quite  right  until 
now  ;  but  now,"  and  as  of  old  the  doctor  tramped  up 


JERRY.  131 

and  down  the  room  with  his  spurs  rattling  at  his  heels, 
"  now  it  will  be  good  for  you  to  work  ;  you  will  be 
helped  mentally  and  morally  by  working  for  yourself. 
I  think  the  school  is  a  good  plan  ;  but  I  advise  you  to 
take  the  school  already  established  in  Eureka,  and 
make  reasonable  charges  ;  the  schoolmaster  is  old 
now,  and  never  has  been  of  any  practical  value." 

"  And  what  will  he  have  to  live  on  without  his 
school  ?  "  Jerry  asked. 

"  He  has  land  ;  land  that  will  bring  him  in  a  little 
fortune  before  long,"  thoughtfully,  "  besides  he  has 
money  put  away  :  I  will  speak  to  him  if  you  like,  so 
that  you  can  secure  the  school-house  and  his  influ- 
ence." 

Jerry  looked  doubtful :  his  intentions  about  the 
great  work  he  had  chosen,  had  been  so  different. 
He  had  pictured  to  himself  a  beginning  where  all 
would  be  gratitude  and  good  feeling  :  where  he  would 
tell  the  people  what  he  purposed  doing  for  them,  and 
begin  by  being  a  hero  ! 

Now,  the  opening  scene  was  all  changed  ;  and  he 
put  in  a  position  to  sue  for  patronage. 

He  had  never  spoken  to  the  doctor  of  this  great  pur- 
pose, and  now,  somehow,  the  disclosure  seemed  im- 
possible, for  there  was  no  escape  from  the  doctor's 
reasoning  :  it  was  undeniably  right  that  he  should 
support  himself  ;  a  thing  that  had  not  occurred  to 
him  in  his  dreams. 

And  yet,  how  could  he  say  to  the  people — "  I  am 
doing  this  entirely  for  your  good — but  you  must  pay 
me  for  it"  ?  How  could  a  man  professing  to  work  on 
a  high  moral  plane,  push  cash  payments? 

And  he  answered  slowly : 

"  Let  me  think  of  it,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

And  Jerry  walked  home  slowly. 

This  conversation  had  taken  place  a  year  before  the 
railway  excitement  had  touched  the  little  towns  of 
Durden's  and  Eureka,  and  for  that  length  of  time 


132  JERRY. 

Jerry  had  been  schoolmaster  in  Eureka  after  the  doc- 
tor's plan. 

It  had  made  Joe  very  proud,  and  it  was  music  in 
his  ears  when  he  heard  the  people  say — "  Mr.  Wiiker- 
son  ";  and  when  he  saw  Jerry  making  out  his  monthly 
bills,  or  signing  receipts  as  "  J.  P.  Wilkerson,"  his 
heart  would  throb  with  delight.  But  the  height  of  his 
joy  was  reached  when  the  Eureka  Star  published  a 
flourishing  notice  of  the  "  talented  young  schoolmaster, 
Professor  Jeremiah  P.  Wilkerson." 

Fully  realizing  the  absurdity  of  the  position,  the 
amusement  of  the  doctor,  and  the  sneers  of  Paul, 
Jerry  found  this  notice  hard  to  bear  ;  but  his  cup 
seemed  to  overflow  when  he  found  that  in  his  pride 
Joe  had  taken  the  notice  to  Paul  as  a  triumph  for 
Jerry  ! 

No  scoffing  remarks  from  Paul — no  labored  ex- 
planation even,  would  have  made  the  old  man  under- 
stand the  amusing  side  of  the  notice  or  the  little  worth 
of  it ;  and  though  feeling  just  as  Jerry  knew  he  would 
feel,  the  doctor  said  such  kind  things  to  Joe  that  he 
returned  home  greatly  elated,  and  with  two  pins  fixed 
the  bit  of  newspaper  to  the  wall  where  he  could  see  it 
always  without  any  trouble. 

But  the  year  had  seemed  a  lifetime  to  Jerry. — He 
had  had  to  unlearn  so  much — to  bear  so  much — to  be 
disappointed  in  so  much  ;  for  outside  of  books  he  had 
no  knowledge. 

His  whole  life,  since  Joe  had  taken  him  in,  had  been 
spent  between  the  little  house  under  the  cliffs  and  the 
quiet  of  the  doctor's  study  ;  and  this  year  of  practical 
work  among  the  people  had  been  a  revelation  to  him. 

Among  the  delusions  which  had  been  dispelled  was 
the  one  that  Joe  worked  in  Eureka.  Not  that  Joe 
had  ever  said  that  he  worked  in  Eureka,  but  somehow 
the  belief  had  grown  up  with  Jerry,  until  now  he  dis- 
covered that  a  mistake  had  been  made  somewhere. 
To  his  astonishment  he  found  that  few  people  in 
Eureka  knew  Joe  Gilliam — that  fewer  still  knew  where 


JERRY.  133 

he  worked,  and  no  one  seemed  to  have  asked  what  his 
work  was. 

All  this  came  to  Jerry  by  accident,  for  it  did  not 
occur  to  him  to  ask  any  questions  about  Joe  :  but 
when  later  on  he  found  that  even  in  Burden's  every- 
body believed  that  Joe  worked  in  Eureka,  he  felt  as 
if  walking  in  a  mist  full  of  strange  surmises  concern- 
ing the  old  man,  and  in  his  musing  his  thoughts  took 
curious  shapes  ;  for  why  should  there  be  any  mystery  ? 
Back  through  all  the  years  his  thoughts  had  gone  and 
had  found  many  things  that  could  not  be  accounted 
for. 

Why  had  the  house  been  so  carefully  guarded  ? 
What  was  there  in  it  to  tempt  a  thief  ?  And  working 
nowhere  that  Jerry  could  hear  of,  how  did  Joe  make 
his  money  ?  For  Joe  surely  had  money.  But  even 
this  was  a  revelation"  to  Jerry  ;  for  until  he  had  gone 
to  Eureka  and  had  seen  the  way  in  which  Joe's  class 
lived,  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  to  question  Joe's 
mode  of  life.  It  had  been  so  different  from  the  doc- 
tor's, where  Jerry  often  lunched  or  dined,  that  it  had 
seemed  to  him  coarse  and  rough  ;  but  one  insight  into 
a  Eureka  house,  and  his  eyes  were  instantly  opened 
to  the  fact  of  Joe's  superior  mode  of  life  ;  and  at  once 
he  faced  the  mystery  of  the  source  of  Joe's  money. 

So  through  these  puzzles  that  were  almost  troubles, 
and  many  others,  the  year  had  waxed  and  waned  and 
worn  away  as  years  will  do  if  only  one  is  patient 
enough.  And  Jerry  had  rearranged  all  his  plans  and 
ideas  ;  had  patiently  readjusted  all  his  theories  as  to 
poverty  and  want,  placing  them  on  a  new  basis  that 
he  deemed  firm  and  practical,  and  that  he  was  sure 
would  stand  all  tests. 

But  suddenly,  like  the  swift,  unaccountable  changes 
in  a  dream,  the  greatest  excitement  ever  known  in 
that  region  had  laid  hold  on  Burden's  and  Eureka  : 
the  deepest  and  widest  excitement  that  could  touch 
any  small,  unimportant  place — a  railway  was  coming  ! 
As  surely  as  the  sun  shone  and  the  wind  blew,  a  rail- 


134  JERRY. 

way  was  coming,  and  hundreds  of  people  with  it. 
Eureka  was  to  be  made  a  great  city  ;  the  value  of 
land  was  to  reach  an  unheard-of  figure,  and  all  the 
inhabitants  would  bloom  into  millionaires  ! 

How  the  report  had  come,  or  whence  it  had  come, 
no  one  knew  ;  but  it  was  there  among  them  like  fire 
on  the  prairies.  Nothing  could  quench  the  talk  it 
roused,  nor  the  hopes  that  flared  and  flamed  in  every 
direction. 

Money  was  coming  to  all  without  one  stroke  of 
work  being  done  :  Fortune  was  walking  calmly  across 
the  hot,  dry  plains — across  mountains  and  rivers — 
steadily  on  to  the  town  of  Eureka,  her  chosen,  favor- 
ite child. 

The  days  and  the  years  had  passed  very  quietly 
until  the  talk  of  a  railway  had  waked  up  the  commu- 
nity, and  intoxicated  it  with  the  thought  of  wealth. 
The  people  gathered  on  the  corners  with  an  eager, 
hungry  look  growing  on  their  usually  stolid  faces.; 
stopped  each  other  on  the  street  to  discuss  this  all- 
absorbing  possibility  ;  wild  with  delight ;  shouting 
and  drinking  ;  betting  their  all  as  to  where  the  railway 
would  enter  the  town,  what  land  would  be  the  most 
valuable,  and  who  had  the  best  chances  for  the  future. 

It  seemed  to  ring  all  the  changes  on  the  different 
characters  ;  the  parsimonious  became  absolutely  stin- 
gy, holding  their  money  with  an  eager  grasp  as  the  pos- 
sibility of  getting  more  seemed  to  come  nearer  to 
them  ;  the  avaricious  became  greedy  for  it  ;  the  reck- 
less threw  it  away  more  wildly.  The  very  children 
and  women  caught  the  infection,  fighting  among 
themselves,  and  drawing  their  husbands  and  sons  into 
the  horrid  drunken  frays  that  seemed  to  occur  in  every 
house  and  shop. 

"  I  never  hearn  the  like,"  and  Joe  paused  in  his  eat- 
ing and  put  down  his  knife  and  fork,  "  Eureky  is  jest 
a-bilin'  over." 

"  It  will  be  a  great  thing  for  Eureka,"  Jerry  an- 
swered, then  went  on  more  slowly  as  if  trying  to  un- 


JERRY.  ^35 

derstand  his  own  words — "  and  people  talk  of  buying 
the  land  in  every  direction." 

"  What  fur  ?  " 

"  To  make  money,"  and  Jerry's  voice  and  expres- 
sion were  very  grave. 

Joe  looked  anxiously  into  the  young  face  opposite 
him. 

"  Does  youuns  want  some  ? "  he  said  doubtfully. 
Jerry  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Do  I  want  land  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  thank  you,  Joe,  I 
have  no  need  for  land,  and  I  think  it  a  wrong  thing  to 
speculate  in." 

Joe  took  up  his  knife  and  fork  to  go  on  with  his 
supper,  while  a  puzzled  look  came  over  his  face. 
With  each  year  that  had  passed  Jerry  had  become  a 
greater  mystery  to  him,  until  now  he  had  no  real  hope 
of  ever  understanding  him  again.  "  His  boy  "  had 
developed  entirely  out  of  his  reach  and  knowledge, 
and  Joe  could  only  admire. 

But  this  last  enunciation  was  to  Joe  the  strangest 
of  all  Jerry's  sayings — that  to  speculate  in  land  was  a 
sin.  Was  this  a  remnant  of  Jerry's  youthful  weak- 
mindedness  that  education  had  failed  to  correct  ? 
And  from  this  time  Joe  watched  Jerry  with  careful 
curiosity — watched  while  Jerry  strove  in  vain  to  right 
himself  and  hold  his  place  amid  all  this  wild  excite- 
ment. 

It  seemed  marvelous  to  Jerry  how  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye  all  about  him  was  changed,  and  he  had  to 
stand  and  see  not  only  his  dreams  and  his  theories 
swept  away,  but  the  long  year's  hard  work  annihila- 
ted, while  this  intoxicating  greed  for  gain  absorbed 
the  people  in  its  whirling  vortex. 

Jerry  had  read  a  great  deal  about  money  and  mon- 
ey's power ;  had  thought  that  he  had  some  knowledge 
on  the  subject,  and  so  thinking  had  built  for  himself 
a  bulwark  of  calm  indifference  to  this  thing  that  so 
swayed  the  world  ;  indeed,  he  had  determined  to  live 
entirely  above  it. 


136  JERRY. 

But  now  as  he  watched  he  began  dimly  to  realize 
that  the  cumulative,  crushing,  almost  crazing  influ- 
ence of  money  was  an  awful  thing, — a  thing  to  be 
afraid  of.  He  looked  and  listened  appalled  and  as- 
tonished, and  his  hopes  for  his  class  seemed  futile. 
How  useless  to  try  to  make  anything  of  these  creat- 
ures so  far  down  in  the  scale  of  humanity  ;  so  hungry 
for  this  power  that  was  in  itself  so  unworthy,  and  of 
which  they  could  make  only  the  lowest  uses. 

How  he  despised  them,  and  how  he  hated  the  knowl- 
edge that  he  had  been  born  one  of  them. 

Nor  had  he  any  opportunity  to  take  counsel  and 
comfort  from  the  doctor,  for  his  time  was  fully  occu- 
pied by  the  school,  and  by  the  long  conversations  he 
was  now  called  upon  to  hold  with  his  patrons,  the 
parents  of  his  scholars. 

Their  confidence  in  Jerry  first  arose  from  his  hav- 
ing been  called  "  Professor"  by  the  Star,  and  now 
they  thought  they  could  get  no  better  views  than  his 
as  to  the  land  speculators  who  were  already  creeping 
into  the  towns.  So  they  asked,  and  Jerry  answered 
unhesitatingly  against  these  strangers,  and  tried  to 
show  the  people  the  dark  sin  that  was  hidden  at  the 
core  of  the  fair-seeming  schemes  these  land-specula- 
tors set  forth  to  tempt  them. 

To  speculate  in  land  was  a  crime,  he  told  them,  and 
the  Government  was  responsible  for  it ;  the  Govern- 
ment should  hold  all  land  and  rent  it  ;  should  not 
throw  out  God's  gifts  which  should  be  dispensed  fair- 
ly, to  be  scrambled  for  by  the  crowd.  Of  course  the 
weak  would  go  to  the  wall — the  weak  who  had  every 
right  to  life  save  the  strength  to  hold  it. 

In  answer,  the  plausible  first  speculators  insisted, 
that  the  land,  having  been  thrown  out  for  a  general 
scramble,  would  all  be  grasped  by  "  sharpers,"  unless 
they,  with  command  of  ready  money,  should  be  al- 
lowed to  buy  it,  in  order  to  hold  it  for  the  poor 
people  who  would  come  with  the  railway  :  this  was 
all  they  wanted  to  do,  and  would  promise  to  sell  it 


JERRY.  ^137 

fairly,  with  only  enough  margin  allowed  to  pay  them- 
selves for  their  trouble  and  expense. 

Their  trouble  ! 

And  Jerry  enlarged  on  this  phase  of  the  question 
with  a  sarcastic  strength  that  won  him  scholar  after 
scholar,  and  made  the  people  hold  their  land  against 
all  temptations. 

He  was  earnestly  true  in  his  opinions,  and  put  them 
forth  with  the  strength  that  truth  begets.  He  saw 
many  visions  of  the  multitudes  that  were  to  come  : 
visions  of  poor  people  seeking  new  homes  and  new 
openings  in  which  to  begin  new  lives. 

They  had  always  lived  up  five  pairs  of  stairs,  he 
thought,  with  only  enough  land  at  the  base  to  bear 
the  weight  of  the  five  stories  ;  but  was  this  all  the 
land  the  livers  in  the  tenements  were  entitled  to? 
Scarcely  enough  land  to  bury  them  in  unless  they  were 
buried  five  layers  deep  ? — packed  away  like  sardines 
in  a  box  ? 

Their  lives  spent  in  horrible  want  and  misery  ;  with 
no  right  to  God's  sweet  air  and  sunshine  that  is  so 
freely  given.  Looking  out  with  hungry,  hollow  eyes  ; 
hunting  in  noisome  garbage  piles  and  gutters  for  dirty 
refuse.  Naked — skulking — starving  until  almost  they 
gnawed  their  useless  hands  that  could  find  no  work  ; 
while  the  broad,  breezy  fields  were  tilled  by  steam. 

It  was  surely  a  black  sin. 

And  in  the  depths  of  the  fire  Jerry  saw  visions  of 
model  farms  spreading  far  across  the  plains  ;  fair 
homes  where  the  scum  from  all  the  cities — from  all 
the  world,  would  settle  and  become  honest  citizens. 

All  they  needed  was  room  for  expansion  ;  room  to 
be  thirfty,  and  moral,  and  religious  ;  room  to  breathe 
in,  and  looking  up  to  realize  their  God — realize  Him 
not  as  a  careless  "  First  Cause  "  who  let  the  creatures 
of  his  hand  multiply  until  they  overflowed  his  world 
and  crushed  and  crowded  each  other  down  to  death 
and  hell  !  Not  so,  but  as  the  merciful  Father  who 
made  room  enough  for  all,  and  did  not  send  disease 


138  JERRY. 

and  misery  as  the  cures  for  the  mistake  of  over-popula- 
tion ! 

Jerry's  heart  was  on  fire  with  the  time-old  wrongs 
of  humanity,  and  his  tongue  was  ready. 

Shortly  the  Star  caught  up  his  views  and  poly- 
syllabled  them  until  they  were  scarcely  to  be  recog- 
nized :  but  Joe's  heart  swelled  with  pride. 

"  It  were  rayly  liker  preacher,"  he  said  over  and 
over  to  himself,  and  listened  eagerly  to  all  that  reached 
him  about  Jerry  ;  and  in  himself  he  began  to  realize 
a  most  notable  character  ;  one  who  had  rescued  from 
poverty  and  obscurity  a  great  light ! 

Jerry  was  the  "  coming  man  " — a  man  bound  to  rise; 
a  man  with  all  the  glory  of  no  ancestry, — of  ignorance 
and  a  log-cabin  about  his  early  years. 

And  Joe  gathered  the  papers  secretly,  and  paid  Dan 
Burk  to  read  them  to  him  ;  for  he  was  afraid  to  ask 
Jerry.  So  Dan  read  the  fiery  columns  to  Joe,  and 
declared  himself  willing  to  extend  Joe's  credit  to  an 
indefinite  extent ;  congratulated  him  on  his  boy,  and 
prophesied  that  some  day  Jerry  would  be  President! 

And  Joe  went  home  and  made  the  fire,  and  ground 
the  coffee  for  supper,  and  in  the  midst  stopped  his 
work  and  put  it  all  aside,  covering  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

"  I  oughter  a-done  this  for  youuns,  Nan,"  he  whis- 
pered, "  I  oughter  a-done  it !  "  then  went  away  and 
hid  among  the  rocks,  that  Jerry  might  not  find,  when 
he  came  home,  that  Joe  had  done  his  work  for  him. 
Nan  had  always  done  her  own  work — and  crouching 
down  among  the  rocks  he  looked  back  at  the  little 
house  saying  :  "  Surely  it's  God's  truth  that  dead 
folks  come  back — surely  it's  God's  truth." 

Meanwhile  in  Eureka  the  talk  ran  high.  Day  by  day 
the  reports  and  surmises  grew  more  wild  and  numer- 
ous :  land  values  were  run  up  to  an  imaginary  price 
that  no  fortune  could  compass — then  a  sudden  stop  ! 

The  people  were  breathless  and  puzzled — the  specu- 
lators, who  had  come  with  such  laudable  desires  to 


JERRY.  '139 

spare  everybody  trouble,  and  to  save  land  for  the 
poor  who  would  certainly  flock  to  this  new  opening, 
were  bewildered  ! 

"  Somebody  "  had  bought  up  all  the  public  lands  !  It 
was  declared  that  within  a  radius  of  twenty  miles  all 
the  Government  lands  were  gone  ! 

There  was  a  pause  of  deathlike  stillness  ;  then  a  howl 
of  rage  and  curses  went  up  against  this  mysterious 
person  who  was  to  reap  this  immense  fortune.  People, 
and  speculators,  and  adventurers  made  common  cause 
against  this  crafty  "  Unknown  ";  and  all  small  jeal- 
ousies and  animosities  were  merged  in  one  great  anger 
against  this  person  who  had  over-reached  them. 

And  Jerry,  boiling  with  indignation,  denounced  the 
"  Unknown  "  openly  and  without  stint  :  the  soulless 
creature  who  had  done  this  wicked  thing ;  had  spec- 
ulated on  the  necessities  of  the  hungry  hordes  that 
would  surely  follow  the  road. 

His  visions  were  all  swept  away  ;  for  the  land  about 
Eureka  was  all  gone  ;  bought  up  to  be  held  until  the 
crowd  should  flow  a  living  stream  across  the  moun- 
tains to  this  "  promised  land,"  only  to  find  the  sharpers 
before  them  ! 

It  was  a  black  crime,  but  a  crime  legalized  by  the 
Government ;  and  God  would  surely  curse  such  a  Gov- 
ernment and  Nation. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Drink  to  lofty  hopes  that  cool — 

Visions  of  a  perfect  state  ; 
Drink  we  last  the  public  fool, 
Frantic  love  and  frantic  hate." 

HIGHER  and  higher  the  excitement  ran  :  who  was 
this  mysterious  buyer  ? 

The  newspaper  was  sarcastic,  then  angry,  then 
bitter  ;  Jerry's  articles  grew  longer  and  more  darkly 
withering  ;  but  all  to  no  purpose,  the  Unknown  did 
not  reveal  himself. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  fateful  railway  came:  built 
only  from  the  nearest  town,  it  seemed  to  come  with 
magical  rapidity.  It  had  worked  its  way  now  to  one 
of  the  lowest  passes  in  the  mountains,  and  before 
long  all  doubt  as  to  where  it  would  come  into  Eureka 
would  be  over. 

And  as  time  went  on  public  opinion  slowly  but 
surely  came  to  the  one  verdict,  that  this  unknown  per- 
son had  bought  his  land  in  the  right  place:  the  town 
of  Eureka  would  spread  all  over  his  domain,  if  he 
would  allow  it. 

Higher  and  hotter  the  talk  rose,  and  reports  flew 
hither  and  thither.  Then  one  morning, — one  cloudy, 
cold  spring  morning, — a  morning  Jerry  never  forgot ; 
whose  piercing  dampness  often  touched  him  ;  whose 
cloudy  heaviness  often  weighed  him  down  in  after- 
days, — a  notice  appeared  in  the  Star — a  notice  short 
and  terse,  offering  high  wages  to  workmen  to  lay  off  in 
lots  this  great  tract  of  land  ;  and  the  doctor's  name 
was  signed  to  it. 

140 


JERRY.  ,   141 

Jerry's  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  ;  and  a  silence 
seemed  to  fall  over  the  town. 

The  doctor.  The  hero,  the  friend,  the  trusted 
benefactor  of  the  town. 

Jerry  turned  away  silently  from  the  man  who  had 
shown  him  the  notice  ;  he  wanted  to  be  alone,  for  he 
felt  as  if  some  hand  had  wounded  him  sorely. 

His  hero  doing  this  thing,  speculating  in  what  was 
man's  inalienable  right,  Land  ;  the  dust  from  which 
God  made  him. 

Had  not  the  doctor  often  discussed  with  him  the 
sin  of  speculating  in  land  ?  More  than  this,  had  they 
not  extended  their  discussions  to  the  finer  point  of  the 
injustice  that  lay  at  the  foundation  of  large  estates  ; 
and  had  not  the  doctor  disapproved  to  a  great  extent 
of  it  all  ?  How,  then,  must  this  action  be  read. 

Was  he  doing  it  for  Paul  Henley  ? 

Jerry's  face  darkened  :  this  thought  seemed  to  hurt 
him  more  than  all  the  possible  sufferings  of  the  immi- 
grants who  were  expected  ;  and  that  this  was  so,  made 
him  ashamed.  Yet,  was  it  possible  that  the  doctor 
loved  Paul  to  this  extent — that  beautiful,  delicate, 
useless  creature. 

Jerry  clenched  his  fists. 

Was  Paul  made  of  different  flesh  and  blood  that  he 
could  not  guide  a  plow  ;  could  not  dig  ;  could  not  eat 
common  food,  nor  wear  common  clothes  ?  Had  God 
made  him  of  finer  stuff  ;  so  fine  that  his  guardian  was 
driven  to  wrong-doing  in  order  to  provide  for  him  ? 

For  twenty-four  hours  the  country  side  made  no 
sign,  no  sound  ;  then  whispers  crept  about  ;  angry, 
malignant  whispers,  that  intensified  as  the  day 
went  on. 

All  these  years  that  the  doctor  had  been  among 
them,  they  said,  pretending  to  devote  his  time  and 
money  to  the  bettering  of  his  fellow-creatures,  he  had 
been  making  his  plans  for  this  grand  stroke  of  busi- 
ness. In  his  long  rides  about  the  country  undercover 
of  visiting  the  poor  and  sick,  he  had  been  searching 


142  JERRY. 

the  land  for  gold  ;  been  working  hard  in  his  own  in- 
terests, and  in  the  interests  of  his  adopted  son,  Paul 
Henley. 

They  declared  that  he  had  been  for  years  in  secret 
communication  with  this  railway  company,  and  had 
known  all  along  how  things  would  turn  out.  That  he 
had  bribed  the  Government  to  let  him  have  the  land 
for  next  to  nothing  ;  had  bribed  the  railway  company 
to  come  in  over  his  land,  and  to  put  the  shops  and 
station  on  his  land. 

More  than  this,  he  had  bought  up  gold-land  at  the 
same  low  price,  deceiving  the  government.  The  re- 
alization of  the  awful  wickedness  of  these  reported 
actions  and  motives  seemed  to  dart  like  a  flash 
through  the  usually  stolid  minds  of  the  people  ;  and 
within  a  day  after  reading  the  doctor's  call  for  work- 
men, they  made  up  their  minds  that  no  hand  in  either 
town  would  be  lifted  to  work  for  him. 

And  listening,  and  thinking,  Jerry  found  that  a  pub- 
lic benefactor  had  no  right  to  look  after  his  own  in- 
terests ;  he  saw  that  once  to  begin  a  course  of  self-sac- 
rifice is  to  be  bound  to  it  for  ever ;  the  world  watches 
closely  and  never  permits  a  retrogression,  not  the  de- 
viation of  a  hair's  breadth  from  the  prescribed  path. 

Prove  your  nose  patient,  and  you  prove  it  a  poor 
thing  meant  for  the  grindstone.  Unselfish  natures 
prefer  being  imposed  on,  says  the  world,  and  benefac- 
tors have  no  right  to  be  anything  but  benefactors. 

Meanwhile,  Jerry  felt  like  one  walking  in  a  dream  ; 
and  after  the  first  shock,  after  his  mind  had  re-estab- 
lished itself ;  all  the  talk,  even  the  printed  notice, 
seemed  absolutely  preposterous  and  impossible. 

And  all  through  the  long  day,  during  which  he  re- 
ceived many  visits  from  his  patrons,  it  was  very 
clearly  realized  by  him  that  not  only  all  Eureka,  but 
all  Durden's,  had  declared  against  the  doctor,  and  were 
ready  to  cry  him  down,  and  as  far  as  possible  to  ruin 
him. 

Jerry  could  scarcely  believe  the  situation,  and  more 


JERRY.  143 

than  once  during  his  many  interviews  with  the  people, 
he  asked  them  if  it  were  possible,  even  with  this  prov- 
ocation, for  them  to  condemn  this  man  who  had  spent 
years  in  their  service  ;  who  had  been  their  friend  in 
every  phase  of  life  ;  who  had  set  no  limit  to  the  time 
nor  the  money  spent  for  them. 

And  the  answer  came  sharply — if  the  doctor  had  not 
pretended  ;  if  from  the  first  he  had  declared  his  inten- 
tions, they  would  not  have  blamed  him  ;  but  he  had 
won  their  confidence  by  false  pretenses  so  that  he 
could  cheat  them,  and  this  they  could  not  forgive. 

Jerry's  repeated  assurances  that  the  doctor  had 
bought  the  land  for  some  good  purpose,  and  not  as  a 
speculation,  were  not  heeded,  for  all  the  facts  of  the 
case,  as  far  as  the  people  could  see  them,  were  against 
the  doctor.  The  buying  of  the  land  was  one  fact  ; 
the  notice  in  the  Star  was  another  fact ;  Jerry's  igno- 
rance of  the  transaction  was  a  third  fact ;  and  the 
fourth  fact,  which  every  one  knew,  was  that  for  years 
the  doctor  had  been  buying  up  the  interests  in  the 
Eureka  mines  in  the  name  of  Paul  Henley. 

All  this  evidence  could  not  be  disputed,  and  Jerry 
could  only  retreat  on  the  declaration  that,  after  all, 
there  was  no  real  reason  why  the  doctor  should  not  buy 
the  land  ;  no  real  reason  why  the  people  should  blame 
him  for  his  course  ;  no  reason  save  that  he  had  given 
them  so  much  that  they  felt  they  had  a  claim  on  all. 

He  determined  after  much  hesitation  that  he  would 
go  to  the  doctor  and  ask  him  for  some  explanation  ; 
and  yet,  how  could  he  do  such  a  thing  ?  what  right  had 
he  to  question  any  act  of  this  man  ?  how  dare  he  look 
beyond  his  word  and  teaching  ? 

Besides,  the  doctor  knew  all  that  had  been  said 
about  this  transaction  before  he  revealed  his  name, 
and  if  he  had  cared  for  the  opinion  of  the  people,  he 
would  have  printed  his  explanation  along  with  his  call 
for  workmen  ;  and  if  he  had  cared  for  Jerry,  he  would 
have  given  him  long  ago  some  hint  that  would  have 
stopped  his  pen,  and  so  would  have  been  left  unsaid 


144  JERRY. 

many  hard  things  which  had  irritated  the  people 
against  the  unknown  buyer. 

And  with  this  last  unavoidable  conclusion,  Jerry 
faced  a  truth  that  he  had  long  realized,  but  from  which 
he  had  turned  away — the  truth  that  the  doctor  had 
never  loved  him.  For  years,  ever  since  he  had  real- 
ized that  the  doctor  was  in  every  particular  different 
from  those  about  him,  Jerry  had  watched  him  carefully, 
and  by  means  of  the  deep  love  he  bore  him  had  learned 
that  the  doctor's  life  was  one  long  struggle  to  lose  him- 
self in  anything  that  would  absorb  him.  Through  all 
disguises  Jerry  had  seen  this  motive  in  all  that  the 
doctor  did  for  the  people  about  him  ;  and  when  he 
turned  to  his  own  case  Jerry  still  saw  this  motive. 
The  discovery  hurt  him,  for  always  the  thought  fol- 
lowed, "  I  am  a  work  that  keeps  him  from  remember- 
ing— I  am  a  duty  that  satisfies  his  conscience;  only  this 
I  am  to  him."  It  was  through  his  love  that  Jerry  had 
felt  in  the  doctor's  nature  the  lack  of  this  same  love  : 
found  that  the  doctor  had  another  theory  than  the  one 
he  held  as  to  honest  love  and  honest  hate  :  the  doctor 
never  flinched  from  his  duty  to  all  the  world,  nor  to 
any  segment  of  it  that  came  within  his  reach,  but  he 
did  no1:  love  it. 

And  bitterly  it  had  come  home  to  Jerry  that  all  the 
adoration  he  had  without  question  lavished  on  this 
his  Ideal,  had  fallen  unheeded,  if  not  unseen.  This 
knowledge  had  not  come  to  him  all  at  once,  but  grad- 
ually, like  the  shadows  that  follow  the  morning  sun- 
light— all  is  still  bright,  but  when  you  look  attentively 
the  shadow  is  where  the  sunlight  was. 

The  doctor  was  a  mystery  that  with  all  his  love 
Jerry  could  not  solve.  He  was  learning  new  lessons 
about  him  now,  but  his  heart  was  growing  heavy  with 
the  new  wisdom. 

For  years  Jerry  had  realized  in  some  measure  the 
doctor's  suffering,  and  had  pitied  him.  Too  often  he 
had  seen  him  sit  for  hours  and  never  turn  a  page — too 
often  had  seen  the  mask  drop  from  his  face  and  a  deadly 


JERRY.  145 

weariness  take  possession  of  it — too  often  had  found 
him  lying  face  down  on  the  rock  over  Burden's  Mine — 
too  often  he  had  seen  these  and,  other  signs  not  to 
know  that  his  past  needed  sympathy.  All  this  had 
made  him  love  this  man  with  a  pitying  love  that  was 
pain  :  but  now  the  new  wisdom  that  hurt  him  took  the 
form  of  the  question — "  Was  the  doctor  greedy  for 
gain — was  it  possible  that  this  pitiful  weakness  touched 
his  idol?" 

That  there  must  have  been  sin  in  his  past  to  cause 
all  the  suffering  in  his  present,  Jerry  never  doubted, 
but  he  had  made  sure  always  that  they  had  been  the 
sins  of  a  noble  nature  ;  but  avarice — could  his  idol 
fall  so  low  as  that  ? 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Necessity,  whose  sightless  strength  forever 
Evil  with  evil,  good  with  good  must  wind 
In  bands  of  union  which  no  power  may  sever  : 
They  must  bring  forth  their  kind,  and  be  divided  never." 

TOE  listened  silently  to  Jerry's  report,  first  of  the 
I  notice,  then  of  the  determination  of  the  people  not 
~  to  work  for  the  doctor  ;  and  finally  of  all  the  evil 
things  they  said  of  him. 

Then  he  laid  down  his  pipe  and  leaned  forward  with 
a  hand  on  either  knee. 

"  I've  been  a-tellin'  him  ever  sence  I  knowed  him," 
he  began  in  a  slow,  conclusive  voice,  "  as  he  were 
a-helpin'  orl  the  p'isenest  mean  trash  in  the  country, 
an'  I  says,  says  I, '  Doctor,  the  least  leetle  wind'll  blow 
trash  in  folks'  faces,'  says  I,"  then  with  a  long-drawn 
breath — "  Cuss  their  measly  hides  !  "  and  he  took  up 
his  pipe  again. 

"  Of  course  it  is  all  right  for  the  doctor,"  Jerry  said 
as  if  convincing  himself,  "  all  right  for  him  to  do  as 
he  has  done." 

"  To  speckylate  in  Ian'  ? "  and  Joe  paused  once 
more  in  his  smoking;  "  1'llowed  as  youuns  jist  'spised 
sich  doin's  ;  the  papers  says  you  do,  an'  Dan  Burk 
'Hows  thet  you  do,  an'  as  youuns  is  got  the  rights  on 
it." 

Jerry  pushed  his  hair  from  his  forehead  nervously. 
"  I  mean  that  the  doctor  will  do  it  in  the  right  way," 
he  answered  anxiously,  "  the  doctor  will  not  speculate; 
he  has  bought  the  land  for  some  good  purpose." 

"  To  gie  it  away  ? "  Joe  suggested  sarcastically, 
"  pay  fur  the  Ian'— pay  to  lay  it  out,  an'  gie  it  away  ? " 
146 


JERRY.  i     147 

He   shook   his    head.     "  The   doctor's   mighty    easy 
fooled,  but  he's  got  mo'  sense  ner  thet." 

"  He  may  put  the  lots  at  a  very  low  rent,"  then  Jerry 
left  the  fire  and  went  out  into  the  darkness.  He  did 
not  want  to  talk  about  this  matter  yet,  for  in  his  own 
mind  he  had  come  to  no  conclusion.  Up  and  down 
he  walked  on  the  level  bit  of  path  that  the  doctor  had 
trodden  so  slowly,  when  years  before  he  spent  the  day 
at  Joe's  house  to  watch  that  the  life  came  back  to 
Jerry's  poor  little  body. 

Up  and  down  in  the  darkness,  trying  not  to  judge 
his  hero,  his  friend,  his  exemplar  and  help  to  all  that 
was  good  and  true  ;  putting  away  forcibly  all  thought 
of  self,  and  of  the  position  the  doctor  had  allowed  him 
to  take  ;  pausing  in  his  walk  where  the  doctor  had 
paused  to  say — "  If  God  will  ever  forgive  me  !  "  that 
short,  pathetic  prayer  that  told  so  much  and  yet  so 
little  —just  there  Jerry  paused  and  said — "  He  can  not 
do  wrong  !  '"  then  he  went  in  again  to  where  Joe  still 
smoked  by  the  fire. 

"  It  must  be  all  right,  Joe,"  he  said,  sitting  down 
slowly. 

"  I  aint  never  blamed  him  yit,"  Joe  answered  ;  then 
more  patronizingly  than  he  had  spoken  to  Jerry  in 
years,  he  went  on — 

"I  aint  got  much  larnin',  Jerry,  but  I'se  knowed  a 
heaper  folks  sence  I  kin  'member,  an'  one  thing  I  jest 
will  say,  thet  no  man  aint  a-goin'  to  gie  away  liker 
fool  fur  moren  twenty  yeer,  an'  orl  of  a  suddint  turn 
roun'  an'  cheat  folks  fur  money  as  he  don't  need  ;  I 
I  don't  b'lieve  it  no  moren  I'd  b'lieve  a  p'inter  dorg 
as  tole  me  he  couldn't  smeller  mink.  It's  no  use  • 
a-talkin'  to  me  thet  away,"  and  he  knocked  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe  with  unusual  vehemence,  packing  it 
again  as  if  protesting  against  the  need  of  any  justifi- 
cation of  the  doctor — "  An'  youuns,  Jerry,"  he  went 
on  more  quietly,  "  as  knows  the  doctor  bettern  mos' 
folks  ;  you  kin  stan'  by  him  better,"  then  more 
slowly — "  If  I  didn't  hev  sicher  sighter  work  on  han' 


148  JERRY. 

darned  if  I  wouldn't  lay  out  the  Ian'  fu-r  him  my- 
seff  !  " 

Jerry  did  not  answer,  for  Joe's  mention  of  his  work 
made  him  think  for  the  moment  of  the  mystery  in 
which  he  lived  between  these  two  unknown  lives. 

"Pore  doctor,"  Joe  said  at  last,  bringing  Jerry 
back  from  his  musings,  "  aint  thar  no  way  of  you 
a-heppin'  him,  Jerry  ?  " 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  I  will  go  and  see,"  he  answered,  "  but  if  he  had 
wanted  my  help  he  would  have  told  me  long  ago,  and 
have  stopped  my  writing,"  the  words  were  said  unin- 
tentionally, and  Jerry  was  angry  with  himself  for 
having  exposed  this  sore  place,  especially  to  Joe, 
whom  he  felt,  somehow,  would  be  glad  to  widen  a 
little  the  distance  between  himself  and  the  doctor. 
Joe  blew  out  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

"  You  dunno  the  doctor  yit,"  he  said,  with  a  little 
grunt  that  might  have  been  a  stifled  chuckle — "  he 
never  blazes  no  road  behind  him,  he  don't,  an*  he 
aint  a-goin'  to  persuade  you  not  to  bust  yer  brains 
out  agin  a  tree,  if  so  be  you  hes  a  mind  to  do  it ; 
an'  he  never  'splains  nothin',  ner  axes  nothin'." 

Jerry  listened  and  had  no  answer ;  rather,  his  heart 
grew  cold  within  him  as  Joe  went  on,  because  of  the 
confirming  truth  in  the  old  man's  words — 

"An*  he'll  gie  you  cloze,  an'  wittles,  an'  firewood  ; 
he'll  gie  you  as  much  as  a  house,  but  you  mus'  sot 
thet  house  right  fur  over  yander,  right  fur,  'cause 
he  don't  want  no  pusson's  shed  j'ined  onter  hisn's, 
you  bet :  he  gies  away  liker  fool ;  but,  Lord !  he 
don't  want  nothin'  a-trailin'  alter  him  :  but  orl  the 
same,  I  'llowed  as  you  mout  he'p  him."  They  were 
hard  things  that  Joe  had  told,  but  they  were  true  ;  he 
knew  they  were  hard  too,  but  it  was  not  in  his  human- 
ity to  refrain  from  this  little  exposition  of  the  man 
who  had  for  years  supplanted  him  in  the  life  of  "  his 
boy," — he  had  taken  the  second  place  very  quietly, 
but  he  felt  a  little  triumphant  just  now. 


JERRY,  i  149 

And  the  next  afternoon  when  Jerry  made  time  for 
his  visit  to  the  doctor  by  giving  a  half-holiday,  he  re- 
membered all  these  hard  sayings  of  Joe's,  and  would 
allow  to  himself  only  that  he  was  going  to  explain  his 
own  action,  and  to  warn  the  doctor  of  the  feeling  that 
was  out  among  the  people.  Several  leading  men  had 
been  to  see  Jerry  during  the  morning,  and  from  them 
he  had  gained  his  view  of  the  state  of  the  community. 

All  were  angry  and  indignant,  and  very  impatient 
to  make  known  to  their  late  friend  this  new  feeling 
which  had  developed  toward  him.  That  morning  an 
angry  notice  had  appeared  "  declining  to  work  for  the 
doctor  at  any  price — no  one  would  lift  a  finger  for  the 
man  who  had  deliberately  cheated  the  town  out  of  all 
it  had  hoped  to  make  by  the  railway," — and  the  notice 
was  signed  "  The  citizens  of  Eureka  and  Burden's." 

Jerry  had  read  it  angrily,  for  he  knew  that  the  baffled 
speculators  were  at  the  bottom  of  it.  These  slow 
thinking,  shiftless  natives — as  in  his  heart  he  called  his 
own  class — would  never  have  had  the  energy  nor  the 
sense  to  make  a  combined  move  :  they  might  be  keen 
at  a  bargain,  but  they  had  to  be  taught  to  think, — 
taught  that  sin  was  hidden  inland  speculations.  And 
he  became  more  angry  with  them  ;  naturally,  but  un- 
reasonably so  ;  when  he  remembered  that  he  had 
taught  them  the  chief  lesson  on  this  point. 

His  object  and  his  work  had  been  true  and  right ; 
but  like  most  honest  men  who  long  to  be  benefactors, 
he  had  done  too  much  ;  or  perhaps  his  pupils  had 
pushed  his  theory  too  far. 

He  had  denounced  the  Government  for  selling  its 
land,  and  the  people  saw  the  reason  in  this  ;  he  had 
denounced  the  people  who  had  bought  this  land  as  a 
speculation  to  the  detriment  of  their  fellow-creatures, 
and  the  people  followed  him  here  also  ;  but  he  had 
not  thought  of  providing  for  the  contingency  of  an 
honest  man  buying  this  land  for  honest  purposes. 

"  And  who  would  have  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  !  " 
he  said  to  himself  with  unconscious  sarcasm  and  in 


150  JERRY. 

much  bitterness  of  spirit  when  he  found  out  who  the 
mysterious  buyer  was,  and  that  the  people  had  applied 
all  his  teachings  to  him.  "  Who  would  have  believed 
such  a  thing  !  "  and  the  people  showed  their  faith  in 
his  judgment  by  refusing  to  believe  it. 

Hurriedly  and  angrily  he  tramped  along  the  road  ; 
he  wanted  to  have  a  long  talk  with  the  doctor,  and 
the  time  spent  in  reaching  his  destination  provoked 
him.  After  much  argument  with  himself  he  had  de- 
termined to  explain  to  the  doctor  the  position  he  had 
taken,  and  why  he  had  taken  it.  It  had  been  a  hard 
decision  to  reach  after  Joe's  words,  but  he  felt  that  he 
could  not  .be  silent  now,  and  so  be  identified  with 
the  people's  notice  :  but  beyond  all  these  motives  he 
had  a  hope  that  the  doctor  would  let  in  some  light  on 
his  own  action,  and  he  longed  for  this  light  with  a 
great  and  loving  desire. 

Alas,  he  reached  his  destination  to  find  the  doctor 
indefinitely  absent,  and  a  note  as  his  only  alternative. 
And  the  writing  of  that  note  was  the  hardest  thing 
he  had  ever  tried  to  do.  If  he  still  believed  in  the 
doctor,  as  he  assured  himself  that  he  did,  what  had  he 
to  say  ?  Say  that  his  articles  in  the  newspaper  did  not 
point  to  the  doctor — say  he  was  sorry  for  the  doctor — 
say  he  hoped  that  he  would  be  just  about  the  land, 
or  say  that  he  knew  he  would  ?  If  he  believed  in  the 
doctor  any  of  this  would  be  worse  than  folly — if  he 
did  not  believe  in  him  ? 

And  he  laughed  a  little  bitterly  at  himself  because 
he  wanted  to  say  all  these  things,  at  the  same  time 
asserting  violently  that  he  believed  in  this  friend  of  his 
life  ! 

He  pondered  long,  then  left  only  a  few  lines  to  say 
that  he  had  seen  the  refusal  of  the  people  to  work  for 
the  doctor,  and  had  come  over  to  put  himself  at  the 
doctor's  service.  He  made  no  comment,  only  the  sim- 
ple offer,  then  went  his  way  slowly  feeling  himself  in 
a  more  complicated  position  than  before. 

He  could  not   retract  his  own  opinions — he  could 


JERRY.  131 

not  explain  the  doctor's  position,  nor  could  he  publish 
the  fact  that  he  had  offered  his  services  to  his  bene- 
factor and  so  take  a  decided  stand  by  him,  for  this 
would  seem  like  parading  his  gratitude, — he  could 
only  stand  still,  and  probably  be  misjudged  by  both 
sides  :  and  this  was  hard.  • 

All  the  way  home  he  turned  the  matter  over  and 
over  in  his  mind,  but  could  see  no  way  to  better  things: 
he  must  wait,  and  if  the  doctor  sent  any  answer  to  his 
note,  abide  by  that. 

"  Well,"  was  Joe's  greeting  when  later  he  came  in 
and  found  Jerry  standing  by  the  fire  with  a  troubled 
look  on  his  face,  "  well,  is  you  an'  Paul  agoin'  to  start 
to  work  to-morrer  ?  " 

Jerry  turned  away. 

"  The  doctor  was  out,"  he  answered  shortly,  putting 
the  supper  on  the  .table,  "  and  I  had  to  leave  a  note." 

"An"  Jim  Martin,"  Joe  went  on,  drawing  up  his 
chair;  "  Jim  Martin  he  come  along  a-steppin'  as  jest  as 
swonger,  and  a  new  feller  alonger  him;  says  I  '  Hardy, 
Jim,  whar's  the  railroad  a-comin','  says  I;  says  'ee, '  Joe 
Gilliam,'  says  'ee,  '  we  are  cheated,'  says  'ee,  '  an'  the 
road  aint  going  to  do  no  good  ';  '  why,  Jim,'  says  I, 
'  I  hearn  as  you  done  mader  pile  anyhow,'  says  I  ; 
'  Lord,  Joe,'  says  'ee,  '  who  on  airth  telled  you  sicher 
spin  as  thet,'  says  'ee;  says  I,  Jim,  '  I  hearn  it,'  says  I, 
'  I  hearn  as  youuns  buyed  orl  the  spar'  Ian',  'cause 
you  done  saved  orl  the  money  the  doctor's  been 
a-givin'  you  ever  sence  he  come,' — whoopee  !  "  and 
Joe  laughed  as  Jerry  had  never  seen  him  laugh  before. 
"  You  oughter  seen  him,  Jerry;  he  looked  like  he'd 
been  a-settin'  oner  nester  ants,  he  did  ; "  then  more 
slowly,  "It's  jest  what  I'se  been  a-tellin'  the  doctor, 
a-he'ppin'  orl  the  trash  in  the  country,  an'  notter  man 
to  he'p  him  now." 

"  I  hope  he  will  let  me  do  something,"  Jerry  said, 
but  his  hope  was  very  small,  and  died  the  next  morn- 
ing when  he  found  on  his  desk  in  the  schoolhouse  a 
sealed  note  from  the  doctor  thanking  him  for  his  offer, 


152  JERRY. 

but  saying  he  had  telegraphed  for  workmen  ;  which 
fact  Jerry  was  not  to  mention.  Very  short  the  note 
was,  but  it  was  some  comfort  to  know  that  the  doctor 
trusted  him  to  this  extent  even.  This  was  his  first 
feeling,  then  the  news  in  the  note  made  him  thought- 
ful. Telegraphed  for  workmen  ;  and  Jerry  pondered 
over  this  fact  as,  lighting  a  match,  he  burned  the  note. 

That  was  where  the  doctor  had  gone  the  day  be- 
fore :  he  must  have  ridden  day  and  night  to  have 
reached  even  the  nearest  post-station,  and  must  have 
sent  a  man  on  from  there  with  his  message  ;  and 
what  would  Eureka  say  ?  and  what  would  Burden's 
say  ? 

The  doctor  had  education,  talent,  money  ;  of  course 
he  would  triumph  in  the  end  ;  but  what  would  he  have 
to  go  through  with  and  contend  against  before  that 
end  came  ? 

And  was  it  right  ? 

Jerry  broke  the  pencil  he  was  sharpening. 

He  taught  very  vigorously  that  week,  so  that  the 
children  made  tremendous  strides  in  learning,  and 
the  one  small  tree  behind  theschoohouse  was  denuded 
of  almost  all  the  hopeful  branches  it  had  put  out  dur- 
ing this  eventful  spring.  This  outward  vigor  was  the 
sign  of  the  growing  excitement  and  anxiety  in  Jerry's 
mind.  Looking  back  he  could  not  understand  how 
Eureka,  kept  so  long  in  the  background,  had  come  so 
suddenly  to  the  front.  Burden's  story  was  common 
enough.  The  mine  had  been  discovered  by  a  poor 
man,  who  had  come  from  a  poor  community  in  the 
Eastern  States  ;  the  rush  of  people  consequent  on  this 
discovery  had  come  from  the  same  part  of  the  coun- 
try ;  they  brought  no  capital,  and  the  scheme  failed. 
This  was  the  reason  given  by  the  doctor.  The  story 
Jerry  heard  from  old  Joe  made  the  failure  seem  un- 
accountable ;  the  mine  was  a  good  mine,  Joe  said, 
but  haunted. 

That  a  superstition  should  so  sway  people  was 
strange  .  it  was  true  that  the  people  who  had  come 


JERRY.  153 

were  simple,  uneducated,  agricultural  people,  not  am- 
bitious, and  contented  with  very  little.  Still,  it  was 
strange  that  they  should  not  dig  for  the  gold  that  Joe 
said  "  lay  all  about  in  Burden's  Mine."  And  here 
again  the  doctor  said  that  though  he  had  never  made 
an  examination,  he  was  sure  that  the  Eureka  mine 
was  much  better  than  Burden's.  Whatever  was  the 
cause,  Burden's  had  failed  ;  then  the  old  story  fol- 
lowed, when  the  people  could  not  get  home  again 
and  had  spread  themselves  on  the  plain,  and  returned 
to  their  old  habit  of  planting  small  "  patches." 

The  discovery  of  the  Eureka  mine  was  the  next 
event  ;  the  doctor,  who  had  arrived  about  that  time, 
united  with  'Lije  Milton  in  buying  up  the  interests  ; 
they  had  worked  patiently  and  cautiously,  and  had 
been  repaid. 

All  this  Jerry  could  easily  understand  ;  but  who 
was  it  that  had  now  made  the  fact  known  that  the 
land  was  full  of  gold — so  full  of  gold  as  to  bring  a 
railway  there  ?  Who  had  had  influence  enough  to 
persuade  capitalists  to  run  such  a  risk  ;  capitalists 
having  sufficient  power  to  force  the  stock  up  until 
now,  before  its  destination  was  reached  even,  many 
fortunes  had  been  made  by  the  road.  Who  could 
have  managed  this  ? 

The  question  had  come  in  the  wake  of  a  natural 
sequence  of  thought  and  reasoning,  and  the  answer 
stared  Jerry  in  the  face.  Only  one  man  could  have 
done  it — one  man  who  had  bought  all  the  available 
land  near  the  town — one  man  who  held  most  of  the 
interests  in  the  Eureka  mine  ! 

True,  not  an  acre  of  private  land  had  been 
touched,  nor  had  any  such  offer  been  made— only  the 
public  lands  had  been  taken.  Not  a  pocket  in  Eureka 
had  been  injured  by  this  gigantic  speculation  ;  not  a 
soul  in  either  town  could  say  they  had  lost  a  penny, 
or  had  missed  a  penny  they  would  have  made — but 
those  who  were  coming  ? 

"  For  some  good   purpose  he  has  done  it,"  Jerry 


154  JERRY. 

said  ;  "  I  know  it — I  know  it !  "  And  still  he  was  not 
sure. 

For  two  weeks — the  longest  Jerry  had  ever  spent — 
the  towns  remained  in  a  quiescent  state.  The  ex- 
citement about  the  land  speculation  was  starving  for 
lack  of  new  developments  ;  the  railway  excitement 
had  grown  old,  and  the  people  watched  anxiously  to 
see  what  would  come  next. 

Nearer  the  railway  came  ;  it  was  known  how  that 
many  stations  along  the  road  had  required  only  a 
week's  time  in  which  to  make  towns  of  themselves  ; 
and  yet  Eureka  and  Burden's  had  not  stirred  !  In- 
deed, they  could  not  stir  ;  no  one  could  speculate  or 
make  any  money  further  than  would  come  to  them 
from  their  private  lots  ;  and  had  they  not  been  told 
that  to  sit  still  and  hold  this  land  would  make  them 
rich  ? 

The  people  were  in  a  rage,  and  the  speculators  in 
despair  ;  while  the  quiet  prairie,  and  the  grim,  un- 
touched mountain-side  where  gold  was  said  to  lie  in 
lumps,  seemed  to  mock  them  ! 

How  easily  they  had  been  outwitted  !  and  many 
curses,  that  were  not  more  than  half  smothered,  fol- 
lowed Paul  and  the  doctor  whenever  they  rode  through 
the  town.  Once  more  Jerry  went  to  see  the  doctor,  and 
once  more  missed  him  ;  and  a  nod  as  the  doctor  can- 
tered by  the  schoolhouse  was  all  that  Jerry  had  seen  of 
him.  Was  he  angry  ?  Jerry  wondered  ;  did  he  suspect 
him  of  being  disloyal  ?  The  blood  mounted  in  the 
young  man's  face,  and  he  remembered  Joe's  words 
that  the  doctor  neither  gave  nor  asked  explanations — 
he  could  not  ask  one. 

Meanwhile,  the  speculators  worked  quietly  among 
the  people,  and  as  the  railway  neared  the  town  and 
the  excitement  increased,  they  offered  higher  prices 
for  the  land.  And  in  the  town  there  were  men  who 
had  combined  all  the  teachings  given  them,  making  a 
theory  of  their  own.  Thus  they  stopped  work,  be- 
cause in  any  case  selling  their  land  would  make  them 


JERRY.  155 

rich  ;  and  they  did  not  sell  because  only  to  hold  the 
land  would  make  them  rich  also. 

And  they  waited  in  vain  ! 

Day  by  day  they  scrambled  for  food  while  they 
watched  with  eager  eyes  for  the  promised  money  to 
pour  into  their  laps  ;  and  the  eager  eyes  grew  hollow 
and  hungry.  They  had  defied  the  doctor,  and  so 
could  not  ask  work  of  Paul  Henley  or  the  Eureka 
engineer  ;  and  not  having  planted  gardens,  they  were 
starving. 

At  last  one  desperate  woman  struck  the  keynote  of 
the  position,  and  for  many,  solved  the  question.  She 
chose  a  time  when  her  husband  was  drunk,  then 
sought  the  Land  Agent  ;  the  amount  he  offered 
seemed  fabulous,  and  the  bargain  was  closed.  The 
drunken  husband  made  "  his  mark "  before  the 
drunken  magistrate,  and  the  land  passed  into  the 
hands  of  the  Agent.  Sober,  the  man  made  the  best  of 
it  and  of  a  shrewish  wife,  and  other  men  sold  their 
lots  and  houses. 

Suddenly  the  town  waked  up  :  the  one  lodging- 
house  was  filled  with  these  homeless  creatures  ;  and 
their  old  homes  assumed  a  wonderful  appearance. 
They  were  whitewashed,  houses  and  fences  ;  the  lots 
were  plowed  and  laid  off  to  look  like  thrifty  gar- 
dens,— seed  were  actually  planted,  late  as  it  was  ! 

The  former  owners  began  to  regret  ;  and  Jerry 
looked  on  angrily. 

Then  one  day,  as  the  bright  May  sun  blazed  trium- 
phantly over  the  broad  plains,  a  wagon-train  turned 
slowly  into  the  town. 

And  all  Eureka  turned  out  at  the  doors,  even  Jerry 
and  his  school  came  out  to  look  ;  and  they  said 
"  immigrants."  But  this  was  no  common  party  ;  there 
was  a  director  to  it  who  evidently  knew  his  business  : 
he  stopped  his  train  in  front  of  the  schoolhouse  and 
asked  his  way  to  the  chief  engineer  of  the  mine. 

Eureka  was  watching,  and  saw  Engineer  Mills  come 
out  of  his  door  and  point  to  an  empty  house  near  by  ; 


156  JERRY. 

then  the  party  turned  in  that  direction,  and  disap- 
peared from  all  curious  eyes. 

Now  indeed,  all  Eureka  was  roused  ;  very  slowly,  it 
is  true  ;  but  roused  before  the  next  day  dawned  to 
the  fact  that  these  men  were  workmen — and  had 
come  to  do  the  doctor's  bidding  ! 

The  town  was  in  a  stir.  Knots  of  people,  men  and 
women,  gathered  on  the  corners  and  in  the  shops  ; 
and  Jerry  felt  anxious.  He  went  about  a  little  to 
sound  the  people,  and  found  the  sentiment  divided. 

The  two  shopkeepers  of  the  two  villages,  Dave 
Morris  and  Dan  Burke,  who  were  leaders,  were 
amiable  ;  for  this  influx  meant  trade  ;  and  Titcomb, 
the  editor,  was  amiable  also  ;  but  the  laborers  were 
furious,  for  this  meant  that  they  had  been  ignored, 
and  that  their  revenge  had  failed  ! 

And  Jerry  began  the  afternoon  session  with  much 
trouble  on  his  mind. 

How  long  that  day  was  to  Jerry  he  could  not  ex- 
press, but  in  the  evening  when  his  work  was  done,  he 
found  a  new  feeling  abroad.  The  shopkeepers  had 
joined  the  mob  ;  for  these  workmen  did  not  mean 
trade  ;  they  had  brought  their  own  supplies — every- 
thing, and  more,  that  a  colony  would  need.  Curses 
were  spoken  out  loud,  now  that  the  leaders  had  turned, 
and  nobody  seemed  surprised — nobody  defended  the 
absent  man  who  had  been  their  friend  for  all  these 
long  years. 

Jerry  questioned*  bitterly  should  he  be  silent,  or 
should  he  speak  and  try  to  check  these  things  that  as 
yet  had  not  been  said  exactly  in  his  hearing  ;  for  the 
people  still  respected  his  connection  with  the  doctor  : 
but  he  turned  away  silent,  his  words  would  have  no 
effect  now,  and  if  he  spoke  what  could  he  say  ?  and 
he  made  his  way  slowly  out  of  the  town. 

Joe  listened  with  the  greatest  delight  to  the  news 
of  the  new  workmen,  and  of  their  having  brought 
everything  with  them  that  they  could  need. 

u  Fur  onest   the  doctor  hes   hed  sense,"   he   said 


JERRY.  157 

slowly,  "an*  fur  onest  these  durned  fools  will  see  thet 
money  an'  larnin'  kin  beat  'em  orl  holler  !  I'm  rale 
glad,  I  am  ;  an'  I'm  glad  the  doctor  buyed  the  Ian' 
an'  started  out  fur  hisn's  seff — ceppen  if  it's  fur  Paul," 
he  added  slowly. 

Jerry  kicked  the  fire  viciously,  and  Joe  went  on  : 

"  But  I  can't,  to  save  me,  see  the  sin  of  speckylatin' 
in  Ian',"  he  said,  "  I  works  fur  another  feller,  an'  1 
makes  my  money  ;  an'  I  tucks  thet  money  an'  I  buys 
Ian',  an'  if  I  kin  fin'  a  feller  fool  ernough  to  gimme 
twicest  as  much  as  I  paid  fur  the  Ian',  thar  aint  no  sin 
in  thet  ;  less  it's  a  sin  to  be  a  fool." 

"  And  there  are  a  hundred  people  nearly  starving," 
Jerry  began  wearily,  "  because  they  have  no  land  to 
plant  ;  and  you  living  in  plenty,  have  it  all  held  back 
for  the  money  it  will  bring  :  money  you  do  not  need — 
I  call  that  sin." 

"  I  'Hows  as  I  worked  fur  the  money,"  Joe  retorted, 
"  'Merricky's  a  free  country,  an'  if  I  gits  'long  faster 
ner  another  feller, — thet  aint  no  sin." 

"  But  it's  a  sin  to  grind  the  other  down  to  starva- 
tion point  that  you  may  make  more  than  you  can  pos- 
sibly want,"  Jerry  went  on,  but  without  any  enthusiasm 
in  his  voice  :  he  was  so  weary  of  his  own  arguments  ; 
and  his  teachings  had  brought  him  so  little  satisfac- 
tion. He  actually  felt  a  cowardly  wish  growing  on 
him  that  he  had  never  said  a  word  on  the  land  ques- 
tion, but  had  allowed  all  to  take  their  chances. 

"  An'  if  I  dunno  nothin'  'bout  t'other  feller,"  Joe 
went  on  slowly,  "  ceppen  what  I  reads  'bout  him,  or 
gits  Dan  Burke  to  read  'bout  in  the  paper  ;  fur  sartain 
youuns's  don't  spec  me  to  write  him  a  letter  an,'  say — 
'  Come  out  har,  an'  tuck  somer  my  Ian"  fur  nothin'  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  very  question,"  Jerry  retorted  ;  "  if 
Government  holds  the  land,  then  every  man  is  free 
to  rent  only  so  much  as  he  can  plant,  and  everybody 
will  be  provided  for." 

"  An'  if  I  gits  me  a  steam-plow,  as  I  hearn  tell 
'bout  by  somer  these  new  fellers,"  Joe  suggested, 


158  JERRY. 

watching  Jerry's  face  keenly — "  I  kin  jest  plant  the 
whole  perrairy,  I  kin,  jester  hummin'  ;  an'  I  'How 
thet  wont  leave  much  fur  'tother  feller  ?  " 

"  Very  well,"  Jerry  admitted,  "  and  you  make  an 
enormous  crop  of  corn,  and  the  price  goes  down  ;  the 
people  who  have  no  land,  have  no  taxes  to  pay, 
so  can  afford  to  buy  your  cheap  corn  :  every  year 
doing  this,  your  prairie  wont  pay  for  itself ;  for 
provisions  produced  in  such  quantities  will  be  too 
cheap." 

Joe  looked  on  him  with  an  expression  that  was  as 
near  contempt  as  he  could  bestow  on  Jerry.  "  I 
aint  no  fool,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  he  said,  "  to  plant 
one  thing  orl  the  time  'tell  folks  throws  it  way," 
emphasizing  his  words  with  his  pipe,  "I'd  plant 
'taters  \ — 'taters,  sir,  as  can't  be  feed  fur  mules 
an'  hosses  ;  then  the  corn'll  run  up  high  ernough,  I 
reckon." 

"  Perhaps,"  Jerry  answered  slowly,  looking  down 
another  vista  of  consequences  that  Joe's  words  had 
brought  to  his  mind — the  advances  in  labor-saving 
machinery.  The  effect  that  this  would  have  on  all  the 
problems  of  the  day,  and  especially  on  this  land  prob- 
lem, was  a  question  that  needed  an  answer  ;  and  the 
answer  needed  much  thought. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  then  looked  up  angrily  ;  "  you 
say  America  is  a  free  country,  Joe,  but  because  she  is 
free,  is  that  a  reason  why  she  should  be  without  a  con- 
science ?  Because  I  am  out  of  prison  is  that  any  rea- 
son why  I  should  steal  and  murder  ?  " 

Joe  looked  up  in  astonishment. 

'•  Is  youuns  gone  plum  crazy  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  "  I 
never  spoke  no  word  'bout  stealin'  ner  murderin', 
Jerry." 

"  No,  but  because  you  are  free  to  make  money  and 
to  buy  land,  is  that  any  reason  that  you  should  for  the 
love  of  gold  crowd  others  out  until  they  die  of  star- 
vation ? " 

Joe  shook  his  head  slowly. 


JERRY.  '  *59 

"  If  I  heJ  a-been  thet  mean,  Jerry,  the  buzzards 
woulder  bed  youuns  longger-go — you  bet  !  " 

The  argument  was  useless,  and  Jerry  turned  away. 

"  God  will  surely  bless  you,  Joe,  for  what  you  have 
done  for  me,"  he  said ;  then  went  outside  into  the 
darkness  that  he  might  think. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Come  near  me  !    I  do  weave 
A  chain  I  can  not  break — " 

HOW  long  we  live  before  we  realize  that  life  is  the 
one  breath  we  breathe  the  while  we  say  "  I 
live  " — before  we  are  content  to  draw  from  every 
day  its  fullest  uses  and  benefits  unglorified  by  dreams 
of  to-morrow — before  we  learn  that  whatever  effort 
we  may  make  to  touch  another  life,  it  can  but  end  in 
a  longing  that  is  never  satisfied. 

Each  soul  lives  and  dies  alone. 

Day  by  day  we  knit  bonds  that  bind  until  the  blood 
flows,  but  do  not  join — we  tremble  for  the  life  of  this 
one,  or  the  love  of  that  one — we  feel  our  hearts  die 
because  this  life  has  passed  away  from  our  grasp,  or 
that  love  has  failed  us  in  our  need — all  this  we  do, 
fighting  through  our  little  day,  and  when  the  end 
comes  we  must  let  go,  and  journey  out  along  the 
"  lonely  road  "  without  a  footstep  timing  ours,  or  a 
hand  clasped  in  our  own. 

And  now  when  difficulties  began  to  gather  about 
him,  Jerry  found  that  by  some  strange  chance  he  stood 
alone.  Not  only  alone,  but  opposed  to  the  one  man 
who  could  have  helped  him  :  whose  views  he  would 
have  sworn  that  he  not  only  knew,  but  held.  And 
when  under  the  test  of  this  crisis  the  degradation  of 
his  class  was  fully  revealed  to  him — its  greed,  and  its 
ingratitude, — and  he  realized  the  immeasurable  task 
he  had  set  for  himself  in  the  raising  of  this  class — he 
acknowledged  to  himself  without  reservation,  that  he 
had  been  a  fool,  and  began  to  look  for  some  way  out  of 
the  dilemma.  Indeed,  under  the  cool  shadow  of  re- 

160 


JERRY.  161 

action  he  was  tempted  to  trample  under  foot  all  high 
resolves,  and  to  laugh  to  scorn  all  enthusiasm. 

But  no  time  was  left  him  in  which  to  beat  a  retreat, 
for  the  next  morning  he  found  a  crowd  collected  in 
front  of  the  school-house  ;  men,  and  women,  and 
boys. 

He  stopped  for  a  moment ;  were  they  waiting  for 
him — waiting  to  compel  him  to  face  this  issue  ?  On 
a  nearer  view,  however,  he  found  that  they  were  watch- 
ing the  house  where  the  doctor's  workmen  lodged. 

Would  there  be  a  difficulty,  he  wondered  ;  and  his 
step  grew  slower,  for  he  would  not  lift  a  hand  against 
the  doctor. 

At  last  he  mounted  the  little  platform  ;  for  with  all 
his  tardiness  of  gait  he  reached  it  at  last,  and  the 
crowd  seeing  him  coming  turned  from  where  they 
watched  for  the  workmen  and  gathered  about  the  lit- 
tle porch.  There  were  murmurings  and  cursings  from 
among  them,  and  as  Jerry  put  the  key  in  the  lock  a 
man  stretched  over  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  latch. 

"  I  don't  mean  no  harm,  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  he  said, 
"  but  we  want  to  ask  a  few  questions  before  you  goes 
in." 

Jerry  looked  about  him  slowly  on  the  upturned 
faces,  then  putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets  stood 
still  and  waiting.  There  was  silence  for  a  few  seconds, 
while  Jerry's  thoughts  flashed  backward  over  all  he 
had  written  and  said  to  these  people,  knowing  that 
every  word  was  about  to  be  brought  home  to  him 
now,  to  force  him  to  take  sides  :  his  blood  boiled  at 
the  thought  ;  but  he  would  not  take  the  initiative  :  at 
last  a  middle-aged  man  stepped  to  the  front. 

"  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  he  began,  taking  a  piece  of  to- 
bacco from  his  mouth,  and  carefully  putting  it  in  his 
pocket,  "  had  the  doctor  any  right  to  buy  so  much 
Ian'  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Jerry  answered,  "  as  much  land  as  he  had 
money  to  pay  fof." 

"  An'  take  it  from  aller  us  ?  " 


1 62  JERRY. 

"  Did  you  intend  to  buy  ?  "  sarcastically. 

"  Well,  yes,"  slowly. 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  had  time 
enough,"  Jerry  answered  ;  "  the  prairie  has  been  be- 
fore you  all  your  lives,  why  did  you  not  take  it  in  and 
work  it  ?  All  these  years  you  have  been  free  to  search 
the  hills  for  gold  ;  why  have  you  not  done  it  ?  " 

"  'Cause  it  wasn't  any  use  tell  the  railroad  come," 
the  man  answered. 

"  You  have  known  for  months  that  the  railroad  was 
coming,"  Jerry  went  on. 

"Well,  an'  if  we  did,  we  never  had  no  money  to 
plunk  down  all  at  onest  fur  the  Ian',"  and  an  angrier 
tone  crept  into  the  man's  voice,  for  he  felt  in  a  con- 
fused way  that  this  was  not  the  Wilkerson  of  the  news- 
paper. And  truly,  Jerry  was  questioning  from  under 
the  reaction  that  had  come,  and  the  man  answering 
from  his  life-long  views,  and  not  from  Jerry's  new 
teachings,  which  were  not  enough  his  to  be  used.  But 
Jerry,  rejoicing  in  the  slowness  of  the  man,  which 
kept  him  from  saying,  "  You  told  us  not  to  buy  it," 
cried  out :  "  Nonsense  !  tell  the  truth  ;  say  that  all 
the  money  you  could  have  saved  you  have  put  in 
whisky  ;  and  now  when  a  great  opportunity  has  come, 
a  great  opportunity  to  make  fortunes,  you  have  no 
money  put  away  that  you  can  invest.  This  is  the 
truth,  and  you  know  it  !  "  becoming  more  excited  as 
he  went  on,  "  and  all  that  you  have  to  find  fault  with 
to-day  is  that  another  man  has  looked  ahead,  and  has 
provided  himself  with  money  that  he  can  double — 
double  and  treble  if  he  will  ;  aye,  he  can  possess  this 
whole  country  !  " 

"  God  made  the  Ian'  for  all,"  was  called  out  angrily 
from  the  crowd,  "  an'  you  said  so  yerself." 

"  And  why  have  you  been  too  lazy  to  take  it  ?"  Jerry 
retorted  ;  "  did  you  expect  the  Almighty  to  fence  it  in 
for  you,  and  write  your  names  on  the  fences  ?  is  this 
what  you  expected  ?  You  could  have  bought  this 
land  for  fifty  cents  an  acre  ;  but  fifty  cents  would  buy 


JERRY.  163 

three  drinks  of  whisky,  and  you  wanted  the  whisky, 
and  the  land  would  keep." 

"  An'  so  it  would,"  was  called  out. 

"  And  so  it  did,"  Jerry  cried  sharply,  "  kept  until 
two  months  ago.  I  am  not  going  back  from  anything 
I  have  written  in  your  paper  :  I  said  there  that  it  was 
wrong  to  speculate  in  land — as  wrong  as  to  speculate 
in  water,  or  air,  or  sunshine,  if  such  a  thing  could  be, 
for  all  these  things  are  necessary  to  life,  a/id  are  meant 
alike  for  all  !  Speculating  in  land  is  in  my  eyes  a 
sin,  and  I  consider  it  every  man's  duty  to  warn  every 
other  man  against  a  thing  that  seems  wrong,  and  so  I 
warned  you.  You  had  no  money  to  invest,  for,  as  I 
have  said,  you  have  saved  nothing  ;  but  if  you  had 
had  bags  of  gold,  I  should  have  done  my  best  to  keep 
you  from  speculating  in  land," — and  there  came  a 
little  catch  in  his  voice  as  he  remembered  his  deser- 
tion of  his  higher  principles  at  the  beginning  of  his 
speech  ;  and  yet,  these  people  were  so  low  ! 

"  But  now,"  he  went  on,  his  excitement  increasing 
unreasonably  as  he  realized  that  already  he  had  taken 
the  position  of  champion  to  these  low  creatures.  And 
as  this  realization  became  more  clear  to  him,  his  words 
became  more  harsh — "  But  now  you  are  not  troubled 
because  you  think  the  doctor  has  done  a  wicked  thing 
in  buying  this  land  ;  you  are  troubled  only  that  he 
has  done  a  thing  you  were  unable  to  do  !  You 
are  angry  because  this  man  who  has  been  your  friend 
for  all  these  years, — who  has  given  you  time,  and 
money,  and  help  in  every  way, — you  are  angry  be- 
cause he  has  now  the  opportunity  to  better  himself. 
You  let  any  smooth-tongued  villain  turn  you  against 
him, — you  refused  to  work  for  him, — you  take  all  my 
words  and  apply  them  to  him,  for  whom,  God  knows, 
they  were  never  meant  ! 

"  My  words  were  meant  to  warn  you  against  the 
miserable  land-sharpers,  not  meant  for  this  man,  too 
high  and  too  noble  to  be  for  one  moment  doubted  ! 
The  doctor  has  bought  in  a  great  tract  of  land  ;  we 


1 64  JERRY. 

do  not  know  yet  what  he  will  do  with  it ;  but  I  say, 
and  I  mean  every  word  that  I  utter,  that  if  he  had 
bought  the  United  States,  I  would  be  sure  that  it  was 
for  some  good  purpose, — I  would  be  sure  that  it  was 
for  the  benefit  of  the  many,  and  not  for  his  own  bene- 
fit,"— and  as  Jerry  spoke  his  own  full  confidence  came 
back  to  him,  and  with  it  a  great  shame  that  he  had 
for  one  moment  doubted  this  man. 

"  Now,"  he  went  on,  while  his  voice  grew  raspingly 
tlear, — "  if  any  man  has  anything  to  say  against  the 
doctor,  let  him  remember  that  he  has  Jerry  Wilkerson 
to  fight,"  and  taking  out  one  pistol  he  laid  it  on  the 
low,  flat  rail  that  went  round  the  little  porch,  and  put 
his  hand  on  the  second,  that  was  still  in  his  belt. 

The  crowd  swayed  a  little,  and  backed  away  trom 
the  evil-looking  weapon,  and  from  the  shining  eyes  of 
the  young  man,  looking  very  dangerous  as  he  stood 
in  the  level  rays  of  the  morning  sun,  holding  his  fast- 
cooling  audience  at  a  dreadful  disadvantage.  It  was 
no  rare  thing  in  Eureka  for  men  to  be  shot  on  much 
less  provocation  than  this,  and  the  day  was  not  yet 
far  spent  enough  for  any  excitement  to  have  culmin- 
ated, or  for  the  men  to  have  recovered  from  the 
drinking  of  the  past  night :  their  nerves  were  still 
tremulous,  and  they  moved  away  from  the  platform. 

"  We  never  meant  no  harm  to  you,  Mr.  Wilkerson," 
they  said,  "but  all  the  same  it's  durned  hard  lines  !  " 

Then  the  door  of  the  next  house  opened,  and  the 
workmen  came  out  in  a  solid  body  ;  and  Paul  Henley 
was  with  them.  They  stopped  a  moment  on  the  steps 
as  if  awaiting  some  advance  from  the  mob  gathered  at 
the  school-house  ;  and  in  that  moment  the  doctor 
rode  up. 

He  stopped  between  the  two  crowds  and  looked 
about  him  :  on  the  one  side  Paul,  and  the  clean,  re- 
spectable workmen  ;  on  the  other  the  wretched  mob, — 
dirty,  thriftless,  malignant, — people  he  had  worked 
for  but  had  not  bettered  ;  and  in  the  midst,  standing 
high  on  the  platform,  with  the  sun  shining  full  on  the 


JERRY.  i65 

pistol  he  had  placed  in  front  of  him,  Jerry,  the  one 
whom  for  so  many  years  he  had  carefully  trained  and 
taught ! 

Only  for  a  second  the  doctor  paused,  then  nodded 
to  Jerry,  and  rode  on  to  the  workmen. 

He  knew  that  the  feeling  of  the  community  was  all 
against  him — he  knew  that  at  any  moment  a  bullet 
might  find  him  ;  but  that  was  nothing.  He  had  held 
his  life  with  a  loose  grasp  for  so  many  years,  that  he 
scarcely  remembered  to  heed  any  danger  that  threat- 
ened it.  If  one  weighed  possible  results  always,  or 
always  feared  death,  life  became  only  a  burden,  he 
said  ;  so  that  life  or  death  meant  very  little  to  him, 
and  he  stood  in  the  morning  sunlight  a  ready  mark 
for  any  man  who  thought  himself  wronged  or  de- 
frauded. 

Not  long  he  talked  to  the  men  ;  then  Paul's  horse 
was  brought,  and  the  party  moved  off  quietly,  steadily, 
almost  like  drilled  men,  and  every  one  completely 
armed,  as  could  be  seen  plainly. 

The  crowd  about  the  school-house  was  very  still  ; 
they  were  deeply  impressed  by  these  orderly,  strong- 
looking  new-comers  ;  nor  had  they  forgotten  Jerry's 
words,  nor  the  menacing  pistol  that  still  glittered 
under  their  eyes. 

It  was  not  safe  to  trouble  Mr.  Wilkerson,  they 
thought,  for  in  no  position  had  he  shown  any  fear. 
In  their  eyes  he  had  defied  and  bitterly  criticised  the 
doctor,  whatever  he  might  affirm  to  the  contrary  ; 
and  now  he  had  not  only  defied  and  criticised  them, 
but  had  abused  and  threatened  them  also  :  had  stood 
there  one  to  many,  and  had  not  flinched. 

But  besides  all  these  considerations  for  keeping 
quiet,  they  were  also  interested  in  watching  a  reporter, 
who  stood  in  the  shade  scribbling  busily. 

There  was  much  of  deep  mystery  to  them  in  this 
man,  and  it  was  something  far  beyond  their  compre- 
hension that  any  man  should  spend  his  time  in  writing 
down  everything  that  was  done  in  the  town,  and  take 


1 66  JERRY. 

the  trouble  to  send  it  away  to  be  put  in  a  news- 
paper ! 

And  so  intent  did  they  become  in  watching  him, 
that  they  did  not  know  when  Jerry  went  into  the 
school-house  ;  and  realized  no  more  than  he  did  that 
this  retreat  was  a  great  boon  to  the  reporter. 

"  The  school-master  finding  the  mob  unwilling  to 
make  any  assault,  retired  into  the  school-house." 

So  the  reporter  wrote  while  the  dirty  crowd  watched 
him  ;  and  Jerry,  hurt  and  angry,  tried  to  find  peace  in 
his  room. 

"  But  it  is  thought  that  Eureka  will  soon  see  excit- 
ing times  " — the  reporter  went  on;  and  Jerry,  thinking 
these  same  thoughts,  but  wholly  unconscious  of  his 
position  as  a  mob  leader,  determined  to  wait  after 
school,  and  warn  the  doctor:  for  the  doctor  could 
not  know,  as  well  as  he  did,  all  that  was  threatened 
against  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  So,  one  standing  strong  in  the  prime  of  his  years, 
With  his  life  in  his  grasp,  looketh  back  through  dim  tears 

To  the  days  of  his  youth  : 

To  the  fair  dewy  dawn  of  his  fresh  young  life — 
E'er  his  soul  had  been  stained  by  the  hardening  strife 

Through  which  he  had  won." 

JERRY  waited  very  patiently  on  the  school-house 
steps,  with  his  warning  on  his  lips.  Sat  there 
alone,  watching  the  evening  light  that  drifted 
slowly  across  the  plains  ;  while  behind  him  the  moun- 
tains loomed  black  and  gloomy,  with  the  patient 
shadows  huddling  together  about  their  feet  waiting 
until  their  hour  should  come  to  possess  the  land. 
Before  him  stretched  the  road  that  formed  the  one 
street  of  Eureka,  where  in  front  of  the  wretched  shop 
the  men  squatted  in  groups  and  rows,  chewing,  and 
holding  what  might  be  termed  "  silent  converse  "  with 
each  other ;  while  the  women  sat  in  the  doorways  of 
the  miserable  shanties,  and  up  and  down  the  road  the 
children  and  hogs  disported  themselves  indiscrimin- 
ately. A  wretched,  squalid  scene  ;  and  made  more 
so  by  the  contrast  with  the  few  houses  which  the 
speculators  had  been  able  to  buy  and  repair,  and 
which  shone  out  here  and  there  like  the  "  whited  sep- 
ulchres "  they  were.  A  hopeless  scene  ;  yet  all 
about  it  was  the  exquisite  glow  of  the  evening  light ; 
a  cloud  of  light  that  reached  to  the  black  hollows  of 
the  mountains.  God  had  not  forgotten  these  creat- 
ures, and  the  place  was  not  so  wretched  that  his  glory 
could  not  rest  there  ?  So  Jerry  thought, — but  also, — 
"  they  heed  no  light  nor  beauty,  what  use  to  strive 
with  them  and  destroy  one's  self  for  their  benefit? " 

167 


1 68  JERRY. 

Alas  !  All  the  "  warmed  over  "  enthusiasm  of  the 
morning  had  deserted  him,  and  he  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  He  would  not  think  of  these  people  ; 
instead,  he  would  think  what  he  should  say  to  the 
doctor  ;  he  tried  faithfully,  but  in  spite  of  all  his 
efforts  could  only  think, — "What  will  the  doctor  say 
to  me  ?" 

His  conscience  was  clear,  and  the  doctor,  if  he 
thought  about  it  at  all,  must  know  this  ;  and  the  old 
answer  that  came  to  all  his  reasoning  on  this  matter, 
came  once  more, — "  the  only  thing  to  be  explained 
was  the  doctor's  course  toward  him  " — and  there  had 
been  many  opportunities  for  this  if  the  doctor  had 
willed  it. 

Still,  he  would  wait  and  warn  the  doctor:  it  was  all 
he  could  do,  and  however  painful  the  interview  might 
prove,  he  would  do  this  service  ;  a  service  the  doctor 
would  scarcely  value  because  he  did  not  realize  the 
extent  of  the  danger  that  threatened  not  only  him- 
self, but  his  workmen. 

So  Jerry  waited,  and,  in  spite  of  all  his  reasoning, 
hoped  that  his  warning  might  clear  away  the  cloud 
that  had  come  between  them. 

All  was  very  still  save  the  idle  clatter  of  the  chil- 
dren in  the  street,  and  the  occasional  calling  of  one 
woman  to  another  : — all  was  very  still,  when  as  the 
sun  vanished  the  fine,  clear  tone  of  a  horn  sounded 
through  the  evening,  and  Eureka  stopped  to  listen  ! 
Clear  and  sharp,  almost  imperative,  yet  sweet ;  a  tone 
Eureka  had  never  heard  before  ! 

Once  more  it  sounded,  while  Jerry  watched  the 
shadows  stealing  slowly  from  their  dens  in  the  moun- 
tains ;  then  the  usual  noises  of  the  time  and  place 
resumed  their  sway.  But  it  was  not  long,  for  they 
ceased  again  when  the  doctor's  workmen  came  walk- 
ing down  the  street,  and  behind  them  the  doctor 
riding  slowly. 

"  He  has  sent  Paul  home  for  fear  of  danger,"  Jerry 
thought,  and  the  loneliness  about  his  life  seemed  to 


JERRY.  ^169 

enlarge  and  to  join  hands  with  the  creeping  shadows 
on  whose  edge  he  stood,  waiting  to  warn  this  man  he 
loved  so  well.  Quietly  the  men  moved,  seeming  to 
pay  no  heed  to  the  sights  and  sounds  about  them  ; 
talking  among  themselves,  and  to  their  leader  who  had 
a  horn  slung  about  his  shoulder.  They  did  not  look 
like  common  workmen,  now  that  he  saw  them  more 
nearly,  and  he  wondered  what  was  their  station  in 
life. 

He  waited  patiently  while  the  doctor  gave  direc- 
tions, and  talked  with  the  men,  then  as  he  turned  to 
ride  away  raised  his  voice — 

"  Doctor  !  " 

"  Well,  Jerry  " — how  sweet  the  name  sounded  on 
his  lips  ! 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  there  is  more  danger 
in  the  threatenings  of  these  people  than  you  may  sus- 
pect,"— his  words  came  quickly  enough  at  first,  then 
more  slowly  as  the  doctor  watched  him  with  a  look  as 
if  only  politeness  made  him  listen — "  they  mean  some 
of  the  things  they  say." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  was  answered  quietly. 

"  And  you  will  be  careful,  Doctor  ?  "  almost  plead- 
ingly. 

"  I  am  never  very  rash,  Jerry,"  drawing  his  hat  on 
more  securely,  preparing  to  start,  "  but  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  warning  ;  good  evening  " — 
then  Jerry  stepped  back  and  said  no  farewell,  because 
he  could  not. 

However  much  we  may  think  ourselves  prepared 
for  a  great  sorrow,  or  a  great  pain,  when  the  blow 
falls  there  is  in  it  always  a  keener  cruelty  than  we 
expected.  There  seems  to  be  always  some  additional 
refinement  of  the  agony  that  we  had  not  looked  for, 
and  that  makes  us  say — "  If  it  had  been  done  without 
this,  I  could  have  borne  it."  No  matter  how  widely 
we  may  have  spread  our  lines  of  defense  in  order  that 
the  poor  heart  hiding  in  the  center  might  be  some- 
what protected,  the  blow  when  it  falls  seems  to  break 


170  .      JERRY. 

through  every  guard.  For  who  can  measure  the  force 
of  a  stroke  which  another  is  to  deal  us  ? 

And  so,  though  for  a  long  time  Jerry  had  been  con- 
scious of  the  fact  that  he  represented  to  the  doctor 
only  a  part  of  his  duty,  he  now  found  to  his  hurt  that 
all  along  he  had  had  in  his  heart  an  unrecognized 
hope  that  he  was  something  more.  A  hope  that  he 
knew  only  when  he  looked  on  its  dead  face  as  the 
doctor  rode  away.  Mechanically  he  took  up  his 
dinner-bucket  and  books,  and  began  his  homeward 
journey.  He  could  not  realize  all  at  once  what  had 
happened  to  him — he  was  not  sure  that  anything  had 
happened.  Only  he  seemed  again  to  be  the  lonely 
little  child,  cast  loose  from  all  his  moorings.  Had  he 
read  the  doctor's  actions  aright,  and  did  they  say — 
"  You  are  old  enough  to  take  your  own  path, — my  duty 
by  you  is  done  "  ? 

For  years  he  had  listened  to  and  learned  from  this 
man  :  for  years  he  had  looked  up  to  him  and  been 
guided  by  his  counsels, — had  made  him  his  ideal  and 
hero, — had  loved  him  with  that  strongest  love  that 
man  gives  to  man, — and  now  all  was  done.  Either  by 
the  vile  insinuations  of  enemies,  or  by  idle  reports, — 
by  a  simple  misunderstanding,  or  through  indiffer- 
ence,— this  man  he  thought  so  strong  had  been  turned 
from  him. 

His  life  seemed  shattered  ;  for  he  was  young  and 
trustful  still,  and  had  grown  up  to  this  love  and  influ- 
ence as  the  flowers  grow  up  to  the  sun.  He  had  had 
no  great  sorrows  since  his  childhood  to  take  the  edge 
from  his  feelings, — no  betrayals  to  loosen  his  faith  in 
mankind  ;  on  the  contrary,  all  had  so  fallen  out  in  his 
life  as  to  make  him  trust  implicitly  and  love  unques- 
tioningly,  and  this  revelation  of  the  mutability  of  all 
he  clung  to  was  very  bitter.  He  had  been  taught  the 
most  liberal  views  ;  had  been  encouraged  to  tell  fear- 
lessly his  opinions  ;  had  been  told  that  the  truth  must 
be  spoken  at  all  costs,  and  adhered  to  :  had  learned 
from  watching  the  highest  life  that  had  come  within 


JERRY.  XI7I 

his  experience,  that  all  lives  are  lost  that  are  not  lived 
for  others.  And  now  on  his  first  essaying  to  cham- 
pion the  right ;  to  teach  what  he  thought  were  the 
highest,  purest  principles — his  teacher  and  exemplar 
turned  from  him  ! 

He  could  not  understand  it  nor  realize  it  all  at  once, 
and  had  no  feeling  save  a  great  sorrow  that  was 
deepening  down  into  a  corroding  bitterness. 

He  hated  himself  for  being  so  sorely  smitten  by  the 
loss  of  this  friend  who  could  so  easily  cast  him  aside  : 
and  he  determined  that  no  eye  should  see  his  sorrow 
or  realize  his  humiliation. 

He  did  his  evening's  work  quietly,  almost  mechan- 
ically :  told  Joe,  whose  keen  old  eyes  watched  him 
questioningly,  of  the  gathering  at  the  school-house  ; 
of  his  speech  ;  of  the  fact  that  he  feared  a  real  diffi- 
culty, and  had  warned  the  doctor.  Told  even  of  the 
horn  that  had  sounded  so  "  thin  and  clear  "  to  call  the 
workmen  home. 

He  seemed  to  hear  it  now,  sounding  through  the 
beautiful  tinted  air, — sounding  all  to  rest, — sounding 
the  last  hour  of  his  love  and  trust ! 

It  seemed  as  if  he  would  hear  those  high,  clear  tones 
through  all  the  coming  years  ! 

And  he  hastily  opened  a  paper  Joe  had  bought  from 
Dan  Burk, — a  large,  important  paper  from  the  far- 
away outside  world.  He  paused  a  moment,  for  facing 
him,  in  huge  type, — heading  the  telegraphic  column, 
was  his  own  name  ! 

"  J.  P.  Wilkerson — "  then  on  the  next  line — "  Great 
and  continued  excitement  in  Eureka  !  Townspeople  in 
Arms!  Mass  Meetings  held  by  Wilkerson,  the  school- 
master, and  leading  man  of  the  town  !  Dark  threats 
against  the  imported  workmen  !  Notwithstanding  his 
immense  interests,  which  may  be  seriously  involved, 
Mr.  Paul  Henley  and  his  guardian,  supported  by 
Engineer  Mills  of  the  Eureka  mines,  keep  a  firm  front ! 
Grand  article  from  the  Eureka  Star  written  by  Wil- 
kerson !  Base  ingratitude  of  the  latter's  position  !  " 


172  JERRY. 

Then  followed  a  garbled  version  of  one  of  Jerry's 
articles. 

Steadily  he  read  it  all  through  while  Joe  watched 
him, — steadily  to  the  end  ;  then  he  laid  the  paper 
down  without  a  word,  and  sat  quite  still,  looking  into 
the  fire. 

So  this  was  what  was  being  said  of  him;  this  vile 
caricature  was  what  had  turned  the  doctor  from  him. 
It  could  not  be  possible  ;  it  was  so  absurd  that  even 
in  the  midst  of  his  anger  it  made  him  laugh  almost. 
The  people  were  armed,  but  that  was  a  custom  ;  who 
would  think  of  going  unarmed  in  that  wild  country  ? 
And  there  were  threats  against  the  workmen  ;  but  the 
enormous  falseness  of  his  position  as  ungrateful  and  a 
mob-leader,  was  manifest — must  be  manifest  to  the 
doctor.  Then  his  face  grew  darker  :  Paul  held  up  as 
a  model  of  manly  firmness — Paul,  who  on  every  occa- 
sion quietly  stood  behind  the  doctor  ! 

"  Notwithstanding  his  immense  interests  " — ah,  that 
was  the  keynote  !  Paul  owned  all  that  vast  tract  of 
land  ;  Paul  would  be  master  of  immense  wealth — this 
was  the  keynote  ;  this  was  what  made  people  call  him 
manly,  and  brave,  and  calm  !  Money  bought  all  these 
golden  opinions, — money  threw  a  halo  around  his 
boyhood's  enemy — ah,  the  power  of  this  pitiful  gold  ! 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  silent '.  Joe  smoking  slowly 
and  Jerry  gazing  into  the  fire  with  the  bitterest  of 
bitter  thoughts  surging  through  his  brain,  and  a  mass 
of  hatred  and  anger  gathering  in  his  heart  that  would 
suffice  to  wreck  his  life. 

At  last  Paul  had  gotten  the  better  of  him.  It  made 
no  difference  that  he  had  followed  with  unfaltering  zeal 
every  suggestion  that  the  doctor  had  ever  made  to 
him  ;  it  made  no  difference  that  he  had  studied  and 
worked  beyond  his  strength  sometimes  ;  it  made  no 
difference  that  he  had  admired  and  loved  so  faithfully  : 
all  this  made  no  difference,  Paul  had  won  the  day. 

There  was  some  freemasonry  among  these  well- 
born people  ;  a  birth-mark  that  made  them  under- 


JERRY.  XI?3 

stand  each  other  ;  a  class  brotherhood  that  made  them 
stand  by  each  other.  He  was  one  of  the  "  common 
herd  "  and  must  stand  back  :  a  duty  had  been  done  by 
him  ;  a  life-long  obligation  laid  on  him  that  held  him 
fast — bound  him  hand  and  foot.  They  could  push 
him  to  one  side  and  go  on  their  way  ;  but  forever  he 
must  watch  that  no  act  of  his  crossed  their  paths  or 
wishes. 

He  hated  himself — he  hated  his  position, — almost 
he  hated  Joe  because  he  had  not  left  him  to  die  on 
the  roadside  ! 

"  Well,"  Joe  said,  as  he  carefully  picked  out  a 
suitable  coal  to  light  his  pipe,  '-'how  does  it  suit 
youuns ?  " 

"  It  is  all  a  stupid  lie,"  Jerry  answered  with  deliber- 
ate slowness,  as  if  afraid  to  say  too  much. 

"  Dan  Burk  says  it's  orl  true,"  Joe  went  on,  "  an' 
thet  orl  the  country  jest  swars  by  youuns,"  rubbing 
his  hands  with  much  satisfaction,  "  an'  he  says 
as  you  could  make  the  people  do  anything  you 
likes." 

Jerry  sat  silent :  he  was  sore  and  hurt,  and  did  not 
wish  Joe  to  see  how  much  he  had  been  humiliated. 

"  An'  it  beats  me,"  Joe  went  on,  "  why  you  don't 
jest  tuck  the  people  an'  make  things  go  youuns'  way: 
I'd  jest  tuck  aholt  of  Durden's  an'  play  the  devil 
alonger  Eureky  an'  thet  Paul  Henley,"  then  with  a 
chuckle — "  Dan  allers  names  him  '  Polly,'  he  do." 

Still  Jerry  sat  silent,  and  Joe  could  not  read  him; 
but  the  suggestion  took  hold  of  him  with  a  sweeping 
grasp:  why  not  take  this  power  offered  him — the 
power  of  the  people — and  match  it  against  the  power 
of  money  ?  why  not  take  hold  of  the  opportunity  now 
before  him,  and  make  the  first  bold  stroke  for  his  fort- 
une: why  not  take  the  lead  and  be  the  '  people's 
man  '  ? 

So  he  sat  and  brooded,  while  Joe  smoked  diligently 
and  spoke  occasionally  of  the  brilliant  future  that 
might  be  before  Jerry. 


174  JERRY. 

"  An'  Burden's  Mine  is  jest  fuller  gole  " — he  said  at 
last  as  if  to  himself.  There  was  something  in  the  tone 
that  made  Jerry  think  Joe  had  unintentionally  be- 
trayed himself,  and  he  looked  up  suddenly  into  Joe's 
eyes;  but  after  one  little  flicker  of  the  eyelids  they  did 
not  flinch.  Steadily  the  men  looked  at  each  other, 
and  many  things  surged  into  Jerry's  mind, — steadily 
he  looked  with  knowledge  growing  in  his  eyes  and 
shining  on  Joe, — steadily,  until  Joe  rose  restlessly  and 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe. 

"  It's  time  to  turn  in,"  he  said,  and  left  Jerry  sitting 
in  front  of  the  dying  fire. 

Long  he  sat  there  revolving  many  things:  piecing 
together  many  tiny  circumstances;  mere  straws  of  cir- 
cumstances that  now  pointed  straight  through  the 
mystery  he  had  not  allowed  himself  to  try  to  solve — 
the  mystery  of  Joe's  money.  He  remembered  quite 
distinctly  the  night  Joe  had  first  shown  him  a  piece  of 
gold,  how  he  had  heard  other  pieces  jingle  in  his 
pocket:  he  recalled  the  strange  stories  that  were  kept 
afloat  as  to  the  horrors  of  Burden's  Mine:  and  he  re- 
membered that  Joe  had  offered  to  buy  land  for  him; 
and  yet  Joe  worked  neither  in  Burden's  nor  in  Eureka. 

Joe  had  never  trusted  him — the  doctor  had  turned 
from  him, — yes,  he  was  alone. 

Slowly  the  cinders  fell  and  were  buried  in  the  gray 
ashes;  slowly  the  great  logs  burned  through  and 
broke,  sending  wild  flurries  of  red  sparkles  up  the 
broad  chimney, — slowly  the  night  waxed  and  waned. 
The  long  procession  of  his  days  passed  before  him  and 
left  him  longing  for  a  weary,  ragged,  silent  woman  with 
gentle  eyes.  He  turned  from  this  first  real  problem 
of  his  life  that  stood  up  and  faced  him  so  relentlessly, 
and  almost  he  longed  to  return  to  the  dense  ignorance 
of  his  childhood,  if  so  he  might  touch  again  the  love 
that  had  died  for  him.  He  seemed  to  hear  the  thud 
of  the  blow  that  killed  her,  and  his  blood  crept  cold 
and  tingling  through  his  veins  ! 

"  Mammy — mammy  !  "  he  whispered,  while  the  dead 


JERRY.  XI7S 

ashes  piled  in  gray  heaps,  and  the  cold  dawn  crept 
under  the  door — "  Mammy — mammy  !  "  with  a  death- 
like longing  to  hold  the  poor  work-hardened  hand  in 
his. 

What  were  all  the  world  without  some  love  on  which 
to  base  his  life  ? 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"Great  Need,  great  Greed,  and  little  Faculty." 

next  morning  the  crowd  was  about  the  school- 
l  house  door  again,  and  the  reporter  standing  in  the 
shade  scribbling.  Jerry  regarded  him  now  as  a 
personal  enemy;  for  he  must  be  the  one  who  gave  such 
false  pictures  of  him  and  of  Eureka  to  the  world.  And 
yet,  should  not  he  thank  this  creature  who  had  swept 
away  the  film  of  imaginary  friendship  which  had 
blinded  him  ? — clearing  his  eyes  that  he  might  more 
fairly  judge  of  this  friend  who,  when  he  cried  for 
bread,  gave  him  a  stone  ? 

Jerry  did  not  linger  this  morning,  but  kept  up  his 
long  swinging  stride  until  he  reached  the  schoolhouse 
door;  and  when  the  people  closed  about  him,  he  did 
not  take  his  pistols  out. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  looking  about  him;  and  the  spokes- 
man of  the  day  before  came  to  the  front. 

"  These  fellers,"  he  answered,  pointing  to  the  house 
where  the  doctor's  workmen  lodged,  "  these  fellers 
gits  two  dollars  an*  a  half  a  day." 

"  Do  you  pay  it  ? "  Jerry  asked. 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"That  aint  the  question,"  he  answered;  "the  rale 
thing  is  jest  this-away:  day  in  an'  day  out  we  men 
have  been  a-payin'  the  doctor  at  the  price  of  a  dollar  a 
day  when  we  worked  out  a  sickness";  then  pausing  a 
moment,  "  I  do  allow  that  there  was  never  no  charge 
for  widders  and  orphins;  but  I  aint  no  widder,"  with 
much  animation,  "  an'  I've  worked  for  every  blessed 
baby  at  a  dollar  a  day  !  " 

"An"  me  !  " 

T76 


JERRY.  M77 

"  An'  me  !  "came  from  many  in  the  crowd. 

"  And  what  work  did  you  do  for  the  doctor  ?  "  Jerry 
asked,  determined  to  be  just,  and  feeling  bitter  enough 
to  humanity  at  large  to  keep  to  his  determination. 

"  We  chopped  wood." 

"  Any  negro  could  have  done  that." 

"An*  raked  the  yard,"  was  called  out. 

"  Or  that,"  Jerry  added  scornfully. 

"  An'  worked  on  the  road." 

"  And  that  did  you  as  much  gocd  as  it  did  the  doc- 
tor," Jerry  cried. 

"  An'  hauled  rock." 

"  But  did  not  get  the  rock  out." 

"No,"  fiercely,  "but  I'm  a  man,  I  am;  an'  if  my 
work  aint  wuth  but  a  dollar  a  day,  there  aint  nary  a 
feller  that  is  wuth  more." 

"  Very  well,"  and  Jerry  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets; 
"  it  has  taken  me  more  than  ten  years  to  learn  enough 
to  teach  this  school,  and  do  any  of  you  pay  me  a  dol- 
lar a  day?"  looking  around  scornfully — "one  dollar 
a  month  is  what  the  richest  man  in  Eureka  pays  me 
for  teaching  his  child;  and  when  a  man  sends  me  two 
children,  he  pays  me  one  dollar  and  a  half  a  month  to 
teach  them  both.  Did  it  take  you  ten  years  of  hard 
work  to  learn  how  to  rake  a  yard,  or  to  chop  wood,  or 
to  haul  stone  ?  You  know  that  it  did  not, — you  know 
that  there  is  no  fool  who  can  say  it  took  him  more 
than  one  day  to  learn  these  things;  and  yet  you  claim 
a  dollar  a  day.  You  say  your  time  is  worth  that  much, 
and  you  know  that  is  a  lie;  for  if  you  had  not  been 
working  for  the  doctor,  and  paying  him  for  curing 
your  wives  who  support  you,  you  would  have  been 
lounging  about  in  Dan  Burk's  or  Dave  Morris's 
shop,  and  drinking  up  at  least  fifty  cents  a  day.  You 
are  not  worth  a  dollar  a  day,  any  one  of  you,  and  you 
should  pay  the  doctor  for  keeping  you  away  from 
whisky.  Now  I  do  not  want  to  hear  any  nonsense 
about  this  land  question;  I  said  it  was  a  sin  to  specu- 
late in  land,  and  I  say  it  still.  But  I  say  it  is  a  blacker 


1 78  JERRY. 

and  more  damnable  sin  to  drink;  to  starve  your  chil- 
dren; to  work  your  wives  to  skin  and  bone,  and  then 
to  kill  them  in  some  drunken  fury  !  " — his  eyes  flashed 
viciously  on  the  crowd:  it  was  only  a  few  hours  ago 
that  in  the  early  dawn  he  had  recalled  the  thud  of  his 
mother's  death-blow.  "  Have  none  of  you  ever  beaten 
your  wives  until  they  could  not  move  ?  Have  none  of 
you  shed  the  blood  of  an  unoffending  fellow-man  be- 
cause you  were  crazy  with  bad  whisky  ?  I  know  you 
have:  and  there  is  not  one  man  in  this  crowd  whose 
wife  is  decently  clothed  this  day,  or  his  children 
decently  fed. 

"  These  men  who  have  come  to  work  for  the  doctor 
are  men  who  have  paid  much  money  to  learn  to  work 
as  they  are  working  now,  and  they  deserve  what  pay 
they  get.  You,"  with  infinite  scorn,  "  could  no  more 
do  this  work  than  your  miserable  cur  dogs  could,  and 
you  know  it.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  and  I  will  tell 
you  the  truth  if  I  have  to  kill  you  afterwards  :  for  my 
pistols  are  better  than  yours,  and  I  shoot  equally  well," 
putting  his  hand  on  his  belt.  "  But  this  I  say  :  you 
would  be  greater  fools  even  than  I  take  you  to  be  if 
you  attack  the  doctor  or  his  men.  You  have  lost  this 
chance  for  making  money,  but  I  will  see  that  another 
opportunity  comes  to  you.  Only  save  your  money 
and  do  not  sell  what  land  you  own  ;  promise  me  this 
and  I  will  be  your  friend  through  all." 

"  It's  all  blamed  true,"  the  spokesman  acknowl- 
edged, "  an'  if  you'll  watch  for  us  we'll  be  satisfied  ; 
eh,  fellers  ? " 

"  There's  been  some  damned  hard  words  said,"  one 
man  demurred. 

"  But  pisen  true,"  another  amended. 

"  If  you  say  much  more,  Jim  Davis,"  Jerry  cried, 
"  I'll  flog  you  like  a  dog  !  " — he  was  bitterly  angry  ; 
he  hated  his  kind  ;  he  would  have  liked  to  .beat  and 
beat,  like  a  brute  and  cruelly  hurt  something.  The 
words  he  had  said  helped  him  because  they  were  so 
venomously  true.  He  scarcely  knew  himself,  so 


JERRY.  179 

vicious  was  the  change  that  had  come  over  him  ;  and 
he  stood  glaring  at  Jim  Davis  and  almost  longing  to 
see  him  step  into  the  ring  that  at  his  challenge  the 
crowd  had  instantly  formed. 

And  the  reporter  across  the  road  watched,  and 
listened,  and  scribbled,  and  Jerry  thought  what  a  fine 
heading  he  was  making.  The  least  thing  that  could 
be  said  was  that  he  was  whipping  the  mob  into  his 
views. 

And  at  last,  when  Jim  Davis  backed  dewn,  Jerry 
longed  to  thrash  the  reporter. 

"  Well,"  and  he  looked  around  the  ring  of  disap- 
pointed faces,  "  you  wont  fight  if  I  have  said  hard 
words  ;  I  think  you  are  sensible,  although  I  will  be 
honest  enough  to  say  that  I  should  like  to  beat  some- 
body to-day." 

"  Good  for  you  !  "  was  called  out. 

"  I  would,"  Jerry  went  on  ;  "I  would  like  to  whip 
that  man  over  yonder  who  is  writing  lies  about  us  to 
the  Eastern  papers." 

The  crowd  turned  instantly,  and  as  the  clear  voice 
reached  him  the  reporter  looked  about  anxiously  for 
a  place  of  retreat. 

"  But  none  of  you  must  touch  him,"  Jerry  went 
on, — "  do  not  dare  to  touch  him,  for  his  lies  are  going 
to  help  us.  I  only  want  you  men  to  keep  sober  ; 
to  save  your  money,  and  to  save  your  land  ;  and  the 
day  will  come  when  we  can  show  that  Eureka  and 
Durden's  have  men  in  them  as  good  as  can  be  brought 
here." 

"  You  bet,  Mr.  Wilkerson  ! "  and  a  cheer  went  up 
from  the  crowd. 

"  And  if  the  strangers  determine  to  build  up  one 
town,  we  will  build  up  the  other,  and  if  you  will  help 
me,  I  know  the  race  will  be  an  even  one." 

Again  the  applause  rose  heartily,  and  the  young 
man  felt  the  thumping  of  his  pulses  and  the  surging 
of  the  blood  in  his  veins. 

"  But  you  must  trust  me,"  he  went  on,  "  and  if  the 


i8o  JERRY. 

time  of  waiting  seems  long,  you  must  not  grow  im- 
patient. I  will  promise  to  watch  and  to  work  honestly, 
for  I  long  to  see  things  change  in  these  towns.  I 
came  here  half  dead,  and  one  of  your  number  took  me 
in  ;  and  the  doctor  saved  my  life  as  he  has  saved  the 
lives  of  many  of  you.  No  man  must  touch  him  :  no 
man  must  dare  to  lift  a  finger  against  him  or  his,  for 
\  I  promise  to  kill  the  man  who  does,"  pausing  while 
the  crowd  swayed  uneasily  ;  then  more  slowly,  "  and 
you  know  I  am  not  afraid?"  looking  about  as  if 
waiting  for  an  answer, — an  answer  that  did  not  come. 
"I  have  nobody  in  this  world,  and  death  means  very 
little  to  me  :  but  while  I  live  I  shall  try  to  help  those 
about  me.  I  am  one  of  you  :  I  am  poor  as  you  are  : 
I  belong  to  the  same  class  that  you  do,  and  ever  since 
I  have  had  sense  enough  to  think,  I  determined  to  do 
all  in  my  power  to  help  my  own  class." 

"  An'  we'll  stand  by  yer,  Mr.  Wilkerson." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  more  slowly,  "  for  if  you  will  not 
help  yourselves,  I  can  not  help  you.  I  do  not  wish 
you  to  come  here  to  the  schoolhouse  again,  but  I  want 
you  to  work.  Take  work  from  any  one  who  will  give 
it  to  you,  and  put  up  your  money  somewhere  else 
than  in  the  whisky  barrels.  Now  I  must  go  to  my 
work  ;  and  remember,  I  do  not  get  a  dollar  a  day." 

He  turned  and  went  into  the  schoolhouse  with  all 
the  excitement  gone  from  him,  and  a  weariness  creep- 
ing over  him  that  made  him  long  to  lie  down  and  die. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been  !  what  a  wild  scheme  this 
was  that  had  laid  its  hold  on  him,  and  how  could  he 
dare  to  make  any  promises  to  these  people  ? 

He  shook  himself  savagely  :  his  scheme  was  as 
good  as  many  schemes  of  which  he  had  read — schemes 
that  had  succeeded.  The  doctor  had  taken  Eureka 
as  his  hobby ;  all  of  his  and  Paul's  investments  had 
been  made  there  ;  why  should  not  Jerry  take  Bur- 
den's ?  It  was  only  two  miles  away  ;  it  had  plenty  of 
land  about  it  that  was  still  untouched  ;  it  had  gold  ! 

Eureka  would  fill  up  rapidly  and  overflow  ;  these 


JERRY.  ^  181 

men  who  promised  to  stand  by  him  must  be  made  to 
buy  the  land  about  Burden's — must  be  made  gradually 
to  sell  their  lots  in  Eureka.  And  some  day, — if  he 
could  possibly  without  ingratitude  or  treason, — he 
would  open  a  grand  new  speculation  that  would  make 
Burden's  shoot  far  ahead  of  Eureka  !  He  put  his 
face  down  in  his  hands, — for  the  children  had  not 
come  yet,  and  his  scheme  grew  and  grew  before  his 
covered  eyes,- -grew  and  glittered  with  applause  and 
gold,  and  he  saw  himself  a  great  financial  and  political 
success  ! 

But  behind  the  gilded  picture  a  far-off  memory  came 
of  a  dull,  gray  evening,  when  the  ghastly  snow-clouds 
hung  low,  and  the  wind  cried  up  the  gorges  like  a 
human  creature  ;  of  a  wild  leaping  stream  that  wailed 
as  it  fell,  and  wrung  white,  helpless  hands  ;  of  a  child 
whose  soul  went  out  in  dim,  unrealizing  sympathy  for 
the  water  that  came  from  the  far  sun-lightened  heights 
to  the  gloom  of  the  valley.  Had  it  come  to  him  then, 
some  dim  foreshadowing  of  his  life  ;  some  prescient 
dream  of  the  failing  from  the  high  endeavor  to  die  on 
the  sandy  plain  ?  The  path  roughened  and  the  gorge 
darkened  in  the  picture,  and  the  blackness  of  desola- 
tion gathered  about  it,  and  the  water  that  dropped 
forever  !  Never  ceasing,  never  failing  ;  dropping  on 
and  on,  and  never  making  a  stream — dropping  on  the 
stillness  like  a  sob  or  a  sigh — heavy,  regular,  slow. 
He  could  hear  it  now  with  the  broad  morning  light  all 
about  him  :  and  he  tried  to  shake  himself  free  from 
the  vision  of  the  drawn  dead  face  that  had  so  terrified 
him  years  ago.  He  was  nervous  from  loss  of  sleep  : 
he  was  weakly  superstitious  :  he  was  a  fool  ! 

And  he  was  glad  when  the  children,  trooping  in, 
brought  him  back  to  the  tiresome  reality  of  his  life. 

Maybe  the  gold  and  the  success  did  lie  down  among 
the  dead  in  the  darkness  ;  still  it  was  more  enticing, 
more  worth  than  the  narrow,  high  path  of  duty  he  had 
imagined  himself  traveling  when  he  put  his  shoulder 
to  this  educational  wheel.  Who  would  ever  realize 


1 82  JERRY. 

the  earnestness  of  his  labor  ?  who  among  these  care- 
less, ignorant  little  beasts  would  ever  look  back  on  him 
as  anything  more  than  the  man  who  had  taught  them 
their  letters  ?  who  would  know  the  sublime  truth  of 
his  endeavor,  the  great  end  he  tried  to  put  them  in 
training  for?  Among  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of 
schoolmasters,  how  many  had  been  even  thanked  or 
reverenced — how  many  remembered  ? 

So  he  reasoned  from  the  gospel  of  Justice — scarcely 
knowing  the  gospel  of  Love. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Friends,  this  frail  bark  of  ours,  when  sorely  tried, 
May  wreck  itself  without  the  pilot's  guilt, 
Without  the  captain's  knowledge." 

IT  was  a  bold,  wild  scheme  that  he  had  thought  out 
in  his  long  night's  vigil  ;  and  one  too  rash  for  any 

but  a  young  and  practically  ignorant  man  to  have 
imagined.  He  had  no  realization  of  the  difficulties 
that  stood  in  his  way  ;  he  had  no  conception  of  the 
mass  of  work  to  be  done,  nor  of  the  great  confidence 
he  must  not  only  inspire,  but  retain,  before  he  could 
make  even  a  beginning. 

He  had  no  thought  but  of  the  bitterness  and  anger 
that  had  sprung  to  life  in  his  breast  under  the  injus- 
tice of  the  doctor's  treatment,  and  the  insulting 
patronage  of  Paul's  manner.  He  would  succeed,  he 
would  obtain  this  power  and  hold  it ;  he  would  make 
these  people,  who  scorned  and  distrusted  him,  at  least 
remember  him. 

But  how  should  he  begin  ? 

The  question  was  a  momentous  one  ;  one  wrong 
move  at  the  beginning  and  he  could  never  recover 
himself.  And  yet  he  must  begin  at  once  ;  he  must 
take  some  steps  to  keep  up  the  feeling  he  had  inspired 
already.  The  people  were  in  an  excited  state,  and 
unless  something  were  done  to  fix  them,  their  energy, 
born  of  disappointed  avarice,  would  disperse  in  a 
series  of  street  rows. 

He  must  formulate  his  scheme  at  once,  and  make 
his  first  move. 

He  taught  absently,  and  dismissing  his  school  earlier 
than  usual,  walked  down  to  Dave  Morris's  shop.  A 
little  crowd  of  loungers  were  grouped  about  the  door, 

183 


184  JERRY. 

and  sitting  on  the  counters  ;  the  long,  narrow  room 
was  dark  and  dirty,  and  pervaded  by  the  mingled 
smells  of  rancid  bacon,  bad  whisky,  and  stale  tobacco 
smoke  ;  and  the  floor  almost  could  have  been  plowed 
and  planted,  so  dirty  was  it. 

Dave  Morris's  shop  was,  in  truth,  the  most  misera- 
ble specimen  of  a  poor  country-store  ;  and  its  fre- 
quenters seemed  to  be  among  the  lowest  of  the 
low. 

There  were  women  there,  too,  lounging  and  drink- 
ing as  the  men  were  ;  and  girls,  and  boys,  and  little 
children.  Involuntarily  Jerry  paused  on  the  thresh- 
old :  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  his  class  in  one 
of  its  natural  and  favorite  lairs,  and  the  sight  was  a 
shock  to  him.  Joe  and  the  doctor  had  kept  him  from 
even  the  sight  of  these  things  while  a  boy,  and  since 
he  had  been  his  own  master,  he  had  never  thought  of 
investigating  this  place  that  had  been  but  a  name  to 
him.  He  had  read  of  such  places,  and  had  heard 
this  special  place  discussed  ;  but  he  had  not  realized 
the  degradation  of  his  fellows. 

For  a  moment  he  felt  ashamed  of  having  come  there 
at  all,  or  of  having  in  any  way  associated  himself  with 
these  people.  Then  the  thought  came  back  to  him, 
that  when  first  he  had  looked  forth  to  his  life  in 
search  of  a  worthy  work,  he  had  intended  to  help 
these  people.  He  had  intended  being  a  benefactor  ; 
now  the  scene  had  shifted — his  motives  had  changed, 
and  he  intended  to  be  a  master.  Still  this  memory 
of  his  high  motive  comforted  him  a  little.  He  had 
not  begun  his  mission  in  the  way  he  had  at  first 
dreamed  of  doing,  and  it  was  well  that  he  had  not  ; 
for  he  found  that  to  work  for  these  people  for  love  or 
for  charity  wa,s  simply  to  insure  a  loss  of  all  their 
faith.  They  were  incapable  of  understanding  any 
such  high  motives,  and  what  they  did  not  understand 
they  would  not  trust. 

In  all  the  years  that  the  doctor  had  worked  for 
them,  they  had  come  to  look  on  him  only  as  a  person 


JERRY.  "185 

whose  learning  had  had  some  strange  effect  on  his 
brain.  It  had  taken  many  years  for  them  to  learn  to 
trust  him  ;  and  at  the  last,  it  was  only  because  some 
leaders  like  'Lije  Milton  and  Dan  Burk  had  stood  up 
for  him. 

It  was  hard  to  convince  them  that  a  man  in  his 
right  mind  would  have  done  all  he  did  for  them  for 
thanks  only.  They  had  never  been  brought  firmly  to 
believe  it,  and  the  last  few  months  had  made  them 
know,  to  their  own  satisfaction,  that  their  distrust  was 
not  misplaced.  Now  they  hated  him  ;  while  Jerry 
unconsciously  had  made  himself  a  hero  by  taking  his 
honest  and  uncompromising  stand  on  the  land  ques- 
tion. They  saw,  too,  that  Jerry  was  not  afraid  of 
them  :  he  had  not  spared  words,  and  if  the  occasion 
came,  he  would  not  spare  bullets. 

He  was  the  town's  talk,  and  the  people's  hero  ! 

Jerry  was  not  aware  of  this  when  he  stood  in  the 
doorway  of  Dave  Morris's  shop  ;  but  through  all  his 
reasoning  and  excuses  he  was  aware  that  he  had  let 
go  the  only  thing  that  could  excuse  his  being  in  that 
low  place — he  was  lowered  in  his  own  sight,  and  felt 
penetratingly  the  disgrace  of  using  such  tools  as  these. 
And  yet,  though  the  moving  motive  of  his  schemes 
was  no  longer  their  elevation,  yet  the  success  of  his 
scheme  must  elevate  them. 

He  paused  a  moment  in  the  doorway,  thinking  an- 
grily how  ugly  these  men  and  women  were.  Seeing 
them  one  at  a  time  in  the  sweet  sunshine  of  the  plains, 
or  in  the  shadows  of  the  mountains,  they  were  not  so 
revolting  ;  their  surroundings  were  not  fitted  to  them, 
and  so  in  a  manner  mitigated  their  wretchedness. 
But  here,  where  everything  had  been  selected  with  a 
view  to  suiting  their  tastes — where  everything  was  an 
outgrowth  of  their  own  natures,  the  picture  was  hor- 
rid in  its  degradation  and  filthiness. 

"  Mr.  Wilkerson,  you  do  me  proud,"  and  Dave  Mor- 
ris, the  proprietor,  stepped  forward — "  what  will  you 
have,  sir  ?  " 


1 86  JERRY. 

"  I  want  the  latest  paper  you  have,"  and  Jerry  laid 
a  small  coin  on  the  counter. 

But  Morris  was  not  as  yet,  nor  in  small  coin  to  be 
paid  by  this  rising  man  ;  and  he  spun  the  little  piece 
of  money  back  to  Jerry,  and  slapped  the  greasy  paper 
down  in  front  of  him. 

"  Notter  cent,  Mr.  Wilkerson  ;  notter  cent,  sir,"  he 
said  grandly,  "  I'll  be  damned  if  Dave  Morris  is  the 
feller  to  take  '  spons  '  from  the  friend  of  the  people, 
sir  ;  no,  sir!  " 

The  little  coin  still  rolled  as  he  spoke,  and  Jerry 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  watched  it  as  it  neared 
the  edge  of  the  counter  and  at  last  dropped  on  the 
floor  at  his  feet  ;  then  he  looked  up. 

"  I  came  to  buy  a  paper,"  he  said,  with  a  slow  dis- 
gust that  even  these  people  could  see,  "  and  not  to 
beg  one,  nor  to  hear  you  swear  at  yourself,"  and  he 
turned  away,  taking  the  paper  up  carefully  because  it 
was  greasy,  and  leaving  the  money  on  the  floor. 

In  an  instant  Dave  Morris  was  over  the  counter, 
and  standing  in  front  of  his  customer  ;  Jerry  stopped 
and  looked  full  in  the  bloated,  brutal  face,  and  the 
thought  flashed  through  his  mind  that  this  was  not 
the  wise  "  first  move  "  he  had  intended  to  make.  But 
it  was  unavoidable,  and  if  it  ruined  his  influence  in 
the  towns  ? — The  thought  was  like  a  reprieve — if  it 
ruined  his  influence  he  could  get  out  of  this  wretched 
position.  "  Well,"  he  said  ;  and  the  crowd  made  a 
ring  as  if  they  had  been  drilled  to  it. 

"  Do  you  think  because  you've  got  a  little  damned 
learnin'that  I'm  agoin'  to  take  your  impidence, — durn 
you  ! — you — " 

There  was  one  swift  blow  that  scattered  the  words 
which  would  have  been  spoken,  and  a  heavy  thud  as 
Dave  Morris  measured  his  length  on  the  floor,  and 
Jerry  dropping  the  paper  stood  with  a  pistol  in  either 
hand. 

"  I  want  fair  play,"  he  said,  looking  round  him  in 
the  dead,  startled  silence  that  followed  his  quick  blow  ; 


JERRY.  "  187 

for  the  crowd  was  as  much  stunned  almost  as  Morris  ; 
"  You  can  help  Mr.  Morris  up,  if  you  like,"  Jerry  went 
on,  stepping  back  a  little,  "  but  I  want  all  to  under- 
stand that  I  will  take  neither  words  nor  favors." 

His  words  rang  clear  and  angry,  and  the  reporter 
in  the  doorway  and  the  outsiders  in  the  street  paused 
to  take  in  the  meaning.  "Take  no  favors!"  this 
man  was  crazy:  But  Jerry  did  not  think  of  them  as 
he  stood  over  his  fallen  foe,  who  would  not  get  up. 
Several  moments  he  stood  there  ;  then  with  a  scorn- 
ful smile  he  put  away  his  pistols,  and  picking  up  the 
paper  turned  to  the  door.  "  I  shall  be  in  town  all  day 
to-morrow,"  he  said  significantly ;  and  the  crowd 
made  way  for  him  to  pass.  He  felt  more  disgusted 
and  angry  with  himself  than  ever  ;  he  felt  dirty  and 
low,  but  he  knew  that  the  people  were  looking  at  him 
from  every  hovel, — for  the  noise  of  the  fray  already 
had  sped  from  lip  to  lip, — and  that  even  in  the  midst 
of  his  self-contempt  he  must  appear  as  if  nothing  had 
happened  ;  so  he  opened  his  paper. 

Involuntarily  his  step  slackened  as  again  he  saw 
his  words  and  his  name  heading  a  column.  Fiery 
words  that  he  had  not  written,  vile  actions  that  he 
had  never  contemplated  committing. 

He  read  on  and  on,  walking  slowly,  while  his  tem- 
per got  up  and  his  self-disgust  died  a  natural  death, 
and  as  in  the  morning  he  longed  to  beat  somebody  : 
almost  he  could  have  turned  back  and  again  attacked 
Dave  Morris.  His  first  feeling  of  relief  in  thinking 
that  perhaps  by  striking  Dave  Morris  he  had  destroyed 
his  own  growing  influence,  and  so  had  freed  him  from 
the  difficulties  which  were  gathering  about  him,  had 
vanished  ;  and  the  consciousness  that  possibly  he  had 
done  the  most  unwise  thing  that  could  have  been  done 
for  his  cause,  in  thus  hopelessly  offending  one  of  Eu- 
reka's  potentates,  now  added  to  his  irritation. 

Dave  Morris  was  a  leader  ;  a  man  who  held  in  his 
hands  the  fates  of  most  of  the  people  ;  for  as  they 
were  all  in  debt  to  him,  they  were  all  afraid  of  him. 


1 88  JERRY. 

Through  him  Jerry  could  have  swayed  the  town; 
could  have  ruled  even  the  whisky  trade,  which  was 
his  greatest  enemy. 

Surely  he  had  made  a  dangerous  first  move. 

Once  out  of  the  town  and  away  from  the  oversight 
of  his  kind,  his  pace  slackened,  and  he  trailed  his 
paper  at  his  side.  A  dangerous  first  move  :  and  if  it 
ruined  him,  would  it  not  be  better  to  live  in  peace  and 
quiet  up  among  the  rocks,  pursuing  the  literary  life 
the  doctor  had  trained  him  for  ?  live  there  quietly 
with  his  own  thoughts  and  books  for  company  ? 

Then  the  sudden  recollection  came  to  him  that  now 
that  he  could  no  longer  go  to  the  doctor's  library,  he 
had  no  books.  The  blood  stole  slowly  up  into  his  dark 
face  ;  how  much  he  owed  that  man  !  how  boundless 
was  the  debt  of  obligation  ! 

He  folded  up  the  paper  and  his  step  became  firmer; 
his  scheme  must  not  fall  through.  Already  he  had 
changed  too  much,  changed  through  learning  and 
unlearning,  ever  to  settle  again  into  the  still  trustful- 
ness of  his  past  life  ;  and  he  began  to  review  his  latest 
action  more  quietly.  He  had  knocked  Dave  Morris 
down,  thus  making  an  enemy  of  the  chief  man  of 
the  town;  but  also  he  remembered  that  Dave  Morris 
had  refused  to  get  up  ;  and  that  the  crowd  had  seen 
this  :  would  not  this  tell  in  his  favor  ? — their  chief 
lying  prone  before  them,  entirely  conquered  ? 

His  eyes  flashed  a  little  ;  perhaps,  after  all,  it  had 
been  the  best  and  wisest  thing  that  could  have  hap- 
pened ;  and  his  step  became  more  brisk.  At  all 
events  he  would  tell  Joe,  and  hear  his  judgment  of 
the  matter.  He  made  the  fire  and  cooked  the  supper 
as  usual,  and  when  Joe  came  in  there  was  no  extra 
excitement  either  in  Jerry's  voice  or  manner. 

"  I  had  to  knock  Dave  Morris  down  to-day,"  he 
began. 

Joe  looked  up  slowly. 

"  Dave  Morris  ? "  he  repeated. 

"  Yes,    Dave  Morris,"  and  Jerry    poured  out  the 


JERRY.  189 

coffee;  "he  cursed  me,"  he  went  on,  "  and  I  knocked 
him  down.  He  was  afraid  to  get  up,"  he  added,  with 
a  little  satisfaction  creeping  into  his  tone,  "  and  I 
told  his  friends  that  I  would  be  in  town  all  day  to- 
morrow." 

Joe  took  his  cup  of  coffee. 

"  I'll  be  thar  too,"  he  said  quietly,  "  Dave  knows  me, 
an'  he  knows  thet  nobody  pesters  me  ner  mine,  'thout 
thar's  a  buryin'." 

"  You  must  not  take  it  up,  Joe,"  and  Jerry's  voice 
had  grown  softer;  it  had  been  so  unexpected,  this 
sympathy — "  me  or  mine  " — this  man  loved  him. 
There  was  no  duty  nor  expediency  here.  "  I  can 
manage  him,  Joe,"  he  went  on  ;  "you  must  not  get 
into  any  difficulty  for  me,  I  am  not  worth  the  trouble." 

Joe  cleared  his  throat. 

"  Thet's  orl  right,"  he  said,  "  an*  you  makes  me 
feel  bad,  Jerry  ;  makes  me  feel  bad  like  I  did  when  I 
picked  youuns  up  out  yander,"  pointing  over  his 
shoulder  ;  "  you  kep*  on  a-cryin' '  Mammy,  I  aint  got 
nobody  ! '  an'  it  jest  knocked  me  orl  to  pieces,  it  did," 
pausing  thoughtfully  in  his  eating,  but  never  raising 
his  eyes  to  Jerry's  face,  "  you  talked  like  me  in  them 
days,  you  did." 

"  And  I  wish  that  I  had  never  changed,"  and 
Jerry's  slim,  nervous  hand  clasped  Joe's  rough,  work- 
hardened  palm.  He  was  tired  and  excited,  and  this 
unexpected  championship,  coming  so  quickly  on  the 
heels  of  the  doctor's  desertion,  shook  his  self-control 
more  than  he  would  have  thought  possible.  "  I  re- 
member when  I  began  to  try  to  be  like  the  doctor," 
he  went  on  more  rapidly,  "  and  I  made  a  mistake,  Joe. 
I  would  rather  be  like  you." 

"  Youuns  do  me  proud,  Jerry,"  was  all  Joe  said,  nor 
did  he  turn  his  hand  to  take  Jerry's:  his  class  did  not 
understand  this  kind  of  sensitive  demonstration;  they 
said  few  words  and  made  few  motions,  and  both  words 
and  motions  were  clumsy.  But  this  man  was  true  ; 
and  Jerry  felt  it  with  a  force  and  keenness  that  became 


190  JERRY. 

pain.  This  man  had  sheltered,  and  fed,  and  clothed 
him  for  all  these  years,  and  now  was  ready  to  fight  his 
battles. 

A  love  that  had  done  all,  and  had  asked  no  return  : 
for  the  first  time  this  fact  flashed  across  Jerry's  mind, 
and  with  it  the  pain  that  came  with  the  knowledge 
that  he  could  make  no  return. 

He  did  not  love  Joe,  and  never  had;  from  the  first 
he  had  felt  himself  Joe's  equal,  and  later  on  his 
superior;  but  now  the  relation  between  them  came 
home  to  him  in  a  new  light,  and  he  realized  what  it 
was  that  had  made  his  life  so  smooth.  And  now — 
love  from  him  to  Joe  was  not  natural,  and  never  had 
been  cultivated.  All  these  years  he  had  loved  the 
doctor,  day  and  night  his  effort  had  been  to  please 
him;  but  it  had  gone  for  nothing:  this  love  had  been 
shivered  and  broken  into  invisible  poisoning  frag- 
ments, and  would  wound  him  evermore. 

Love  Joe  ?  The  question  was  a  new  one,  and  he 
withdrew  the  hand  Joe  had  not  taken.  He  had  been 
a  fool  to  try  to  climb  to  any  height — did  not  height 
mean  loneliness  ?  Why  had  he  striven  for  any  more 
than  his  class  usually  needed:  was  it  only  because  the 
doctor  had  led  him  on  ?  Must  there  not  have  been 
something  in  him  that  answered  to  the  impulse:  who 
knew  what  there  was  in  his  blood. 

He  finished  his  supper  in  silence,  and  when  all  was 
put  away  he  spoke  again. 

"  There  is  no  need  that  you  should  go  to  Eureka, 
Joe,"  he  said. 

"  Mebbe  I  knows  morer  about  Dave  Morris  'an  you 
do,  Jerry." 

"  Well,  he  can  but  kill  me,"  Jerry  answered. 

"  That's  orl,"  Joe  granted,  "  an'  killin'  wouldn't 
mean  nuthin'  to  you,  ner  nuthin'  to  me,  rightly  ; 
but,"  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  "  it'd  mean  a 
heap  if  you  wuz  a-lyin'  har,  an'  couldn't  lif  a  eye 
ner  a  han"  when  I  come  home,"  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"  it'd  make  a  heaper  diffrunce,"  then  a  silence  fell  be- 


JERRY.  191 

tween  them  until  Joe  spoke  again  :  "  Ever  sense 
you  usen  to  squat  over  thar  nigh  the  fire,  an'  ax 
me, 'An'  what's  a  buryin',  Joe?' — when  you  never 
knowed  nuthin'  ceppen  what  I  telled  you  ;  ever 
sence  then  I  aint  been  satisfy  to  steddy  'bout 
doin'  'thout  you,  Jerry,  an'  I  aint  agoin'  to  be 
satisfy." 

Jerry  rose,  and  stood  looking  down  into  the  fire  ; 
was  it  an  abounding  love  that  remembered  the  pitiful 
sayings  of  his  childhood  ;  or  was  it  that  in  a  life  as 
empty  as  Joe's,  small  things  would  be  remem- 
bered as  long  as  life  lasted.  There  was  no  rush 
of  thought  nor  of  feeling  to  raise  the  annihilating 
storms  that  sweep  through  lives  that  are  edu- 
cated and  sensitive ;  there  never  had  been  any- 
thing for  Joe  but  the  monotonous  living  from  day  to 
day.  Jerry's  train  of  reasoning  failed  him  abruptly, 
and  all  the  unexplained  things  in  Joe's  life  rose  up 
before  him. 

In  this  common  life  there  was  a  mystery  he  had 
guessed  at  only,  how  could  he  say  what  there  had 
been  ?  What  did  he  know  of  Joe's  life  ? 

He  turned  slowly. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  your  life,  Joe,"  he  said. 

For  one  instant  Joe  looked  up,  and  there  was  a 
thrill  in  the  voice  that  spoke  to  him,  and  a  light  in 
the  eyes  that  looked  down  on  him,  that  he  did  not 
understand,  and  that  made  him  look  away. 

He  could  not  grasp  the  longing  for  companionship 
that  was  moving  Jerry — he  thought  only,  "  Jerry  is 
cur'us,  sure  !  " 

His  life  ? 

Joe  had  never  summed  it  up — had  scarcely  realized 
that  he  had  had  the  spending  of  a  life. 

"I  'Hows  as  I  don't  jest  onderstand  youuns,  Jerry," 
he  said  slowly. 

Jerry  walked  across  the  floor,  then  back. 

"  You  have  lived  a  long  time,"  he  said. 

"  Moren  sixty  yeer,"  Joe  answered,  "  Moren  sixty 


192  JERRY. 

yeer  ;  but  I  dunno  rightly  the  day,  not  the  rale  day," 
and  he  wondered  how  this  concerned  Jerry. 

"  And  how  have  you  managed  to  live  all  these 
years  ?  "  Jerry  went  on,  with  a  hopeless  tone  creeping 
into  his  voice. 

"  I  most  allers  had  ernough  to  eat,"  was  answered 
calmly. 

Enough  to  eat. 

Jerry  walked  to  the  door,  and  out  along  the  little 
path  that  led  to  the  trail.  The  stars  glittered  ;  the 
wind  that  came  so  far  seemed  to  speak  to  him  ;  and 
he  thought  "  Is  the  soul  of  Nature  the  only  soul  that 
mine  can  touch  ?  " 

Did  he  stand  alone,  in  that  he  reached  above  the 
formula — "  enough  to  eat  "  ? 

Up  he  climbed,  unheeding  the  roughnesses,  unheed- 
ing the  fatigue  ;  up  until  he  was  above  the  billowy 
mist  that  hid  the  plain — the  flat,  helpless  plain  that 
could  not  reach  to  any  height. 

And  for  him,  was  it  any  use  that  he  should  reach  up 
forever?  The  people  he  thought  to  raise,  did  they 
have  any  other  wish  in  life  than  Joe  had  ;  did  they 
know  or  want  any  other  answer  to  his  question  than 
"  I  have  enough  to  eat "  ? 

Long  ago  he  had  toiled,  and  journeyed,  and  hoped, 
and  at  the  end  had  found  a  barren  height  and  the  far 
plain  glorified  ! 

All  about  him  as  he  stood  the  moonlight  fell  broad 
and  shining  ;  the  ragged  shadows  lay  clear-cut  and 
black  as  ink  ;  the  wind  rose  and  fell  ;  the  stars  looked 
down  like  patient  eyes,  and  at  his  feet  the  silent  mist 
waves  gathered  and  broke — noiseless  spirit-waves 
tearing  themselves  against  the  cliffs. 

Was  it  any  use  to  leave  the  plain  ?  Did  not  the 
light  reach  it  as  surely  ;  did  not  the  streams  reach  it ; 
and  from  the  heights  what  else  did  one  see  save  only 
the  plain  glorified  ? 

Money  was  all  that  was  needed  to  glorify  anything  : 
Money ! 


JERRY.  193 

And  up  there  in  the  darkness  he  seemed  to  see  the 
bewildering  glitter  of  gold  ;  he  seemed  to  remember 
all  the  things  done  and  sacrificed  for  gold  since  man 
was  made  ;  since  the  world  smiled  in  its  beautiful 
youth.  What  caused  this  enchantment  ?  What  had 
given  gold  this  weird  power  that  so  enchained  all  the 
world  ;  that  brought  from  men  their  bodies  and 
hearts — their  lives,  and  honor,  and  souls  ? 

Had  God  made  all  this  fair  world,  and  then  in  all 
the  cracks  and  crannies  put  this  snare, — this  bewilder- 
ing, shining  ruin,  that  the  poor  souls  he  had  created 
might  destroy  themselves  for  it  ;  delve  and  toil 
through  all  their  lives  for  this  one  thing  that  in  itself 
was  nothing  ? 

Why  should  not  anything  else  have  the  same  value  ; 
or  why  should  not  the  world  find  enough  to  surfeit 
poor  humanity,  and  make  gold  a  drug  in  the  market. 
Think  of  all  the  vast  sums  that  had  been  gathered 
and  lost ;  think  of  all  that  was  in  use  ;  think  of  all 
that  still  lay  hidden  in  the  earth  !  Why  not  gather  it 
all  together  ;  work  it  all  out ;  scatter  it  broadcast 
through  the  nations,  and  so  destroy  this  devilish 
snare  ?  Scatter  it  until  the  world  could  spend  and 
hoard  no  more, -and  it  would  be  like  the  autumnal 
leaves,  or  "  like  as  when  one  heweth  wood  "  ;  like  the 
poor  chips  that  are  not  worth  the  gathering. 

How  they  would  glitter  and  gleam  in  the  sunlight, 
these  piles  that  would  be  gathered  for  the  nations  ! 
how  coldly  they  would  shine  when  the  moonlight 'fell 
upon  them  ! 

He  shook  himself. 

He  was  losing  his  mind.  He  must  go  home  ;  Joe 
would  want  to  shut  up  the  house  ;  and  he  turned  and 
•with  deliberate  slowness  retraced  his  steps.  He  had 
climbed  a  long,  rough  way  without  knowing  it,  and 
the  return  was  very  slow. 

He  would  carry  out  his  scheme  :  but  first  he  must 
win  the  people  entirely  ;  and  then  when  all  was  ready 
he  would  tell  Joe,  and  search  into  the  worth  of  Dur- 


194  JERRY. 

den's  Mine.  Money  was  needed  for  the  scheme  ;  and 
it  must  be  saved,  or  begged,  or  borrowed  ;  and  to 
what  extent  would  Joe  help  him  ? 

It  was  wild  and  rash,  maybe,  this  fight  he  was  be- 
ginning against  money  and  station  ;  but  it  would  be  a 
fair  test  of  the  stability  and  worth  of  the  masses. 
Money  would  be  entirely  absent  from  their  ranks,  and 
the  fight  would  have  to  be  fought  before  any  capital 
could  be  won.  It  was  an  interesting  problem,  and 
one  he  was  beginning  to  long  to  work  out. 

And  after  ? 

He  drew  a  long  breath  :  and  after  would  be  the 
gold,  and  the  luxury,  and  the  power  which  would 
place  him  on  a  level  with  his  rivals, — which  would  let 
him  look  the  doctor  in  the  face  and  say — "  I  am  suc- 
cessful, and  in  my  success  I  thank  you  and  say,  '  I 
have  been  true  to  you  always.'  " 

Success  could  humble  itself  and  be  called  nobility — 
failure  could  be  servile  only. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  We  are  men  of  ruined  blood; 

Therefore  comes  it  we  are  wise. 
Fish  we  are  that  love  the  mud, 
Rising  to  no  fancy  flies." 

IT  was  a  still,  gray  day,  with  an  unhealthy  coolness 
and  dampness  in  the  air  for  August.  The  clouds 

hung  low  and  heavy  ;  not  a  leaf  stirred  in  the 
gloomy  gorges,  and  on  the  spreading  plains  there  was 
not  a  movement.  An  unnatural,  blank  stillness,  as  if 
the  world  were  dead. 

Jerry  walked  the  long  way  with  even,  quiet  steps  ; 
Joe  had  gone  away  long  ago,  but  whether  to  his  usual 
work  or  to  the  town,  Jerry  had  not  asked.  No  words 
had  passed  between  them  as  to  the  possibilities  of  the 
day,  and  Jerry  thought  it  not  unlikely  that  Joe  had 
repented  him  of  the  rash  and  generous  ardor  of  the 
night  before. 

Slowly  he  pursued  his  way,  his  hat  drawn  down 
over  his  eyes,  his  pistols  well  at  hand,  and  his  eyes, 
and  ears,  and  mind  all  alert  for  any  sign  of  an  enemy; 
for  if  Dave  Morris  struck  it  would  be  in  secret :  a  shot 
from  behind  some  tree  or  rock. 

And  what  difference  would  it  make  ?  If  his  life 
were  taken,  all  this  difficulty  would  pass  away  with 
one  or  two  triumphant  shouts  from  the  opposite  camp, 
then  he  would  be  forgotten  save  by  Joe,  perhaps. 
Would  be  buried  out  in  the  rain-gullied  graveyard, 
near  'Lije  Milton,  maybe,  whose  dead  face  had  come 
to  him  in  Burden's  Mine.  He  remembered  so  well  as 
he  tramped  along  in  the  gray  stillness,  the  terror  and 
wonder  of  that  time,  and  the  signs  that  Joe  had  read 


196  JERRY. 

in  the  circumstances.  And  the  doctor's  explanations, 
that  he  well  remembered  explained  nothing.  The 
doctor  had  turned  his  mind  away  only  ;  had  thrown 
on 'him  the  burden  of  an  explanation. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  buy  Burden's  Mine  ?  "  he  had 
asked,  "  else,  why  should  'Lije  Milton  come  to  you  ?  " 
Buy  Burden's  Mine  ?  how  strange  it  all  seemed  that 
now  he  should  want  to  buy  Burden's  Mine — and  the 
question  came  up  to  him,  how  could  he  find  out  about 
it,  and  who  owned  it  now  ? 

The  doctor  would  know,  and  perhaps  Engineer 
Mills,  but  they  were  enemies  :  could  he  ask  Joe  ? 

He  paused  a  moment :  he  had  had  so  many  sus- 
picions, would  it  be  quite  honest  to  ask  Joe  ?  Of 
course  it  would  ;  it  showed  a  darker  suspicion  still 
for  him  to  hesitate.  If  he  knew  where  to  find  Joe  he 
would  go  back  at  once  and  ask  him. 

He  walked  on  slowly  :  his  school  would  be  waiting, 
and  if  he  were  not  there  Bave  Morris  would  declare  him 
a  coward  ;  and  all  the  unwise  impatience  which  he 
had  shown  yesterday,  and  which  he  might  at  this 
juncture  turn  to  good,  would  be  used  against  him. 
Twenty-four  hours  would  make  no  difference  in  his 
knowledge  of  Burden's  Mine. 

At  last  the  town  was  reached,  and  all  was  as  quiet 
as  if  no  creature  had  ever  heard  of  a  railway.  The 
doctor's  corps  of  workmen  stood  about  the  door  of 
their  house  waiting  to  start  to  their  work  ;  and  up  and 
down  the  street  Jerry  could  see  the  children  loitering, 
waiting  for  the  school-bell  to  ring. 

There  was  no  sign  of  any  excitement,  and  Jerry  un- 
locked the  door  with  a  little  feeling  of  surprise  that 
his  orders  should  be  obeyed  so  literally. 

Slowly  the  hours  of  the  mowiing  came  and  went, 
and  at  last  the  miners'  bell  for  dinner  rang,  and,  the 
children  dispersing  to  their  homes,  Jerry  opened  his 
dinner-bucket. 

He  was  provoked  almost  that  he  had  heard  nothing 
of  his  yesterday's  broil  :  he  had  expected  certainly, 


JERRY.  197 

before  this  hour,  some  threat  or  overture  from  Morris, 
and  was  a  little  disappointed  at  the  quiet  of  the  day. 
Later  he  would  walk  up  the  street  and  get  another 
paper  ;  the  mail  came  in  again  this  day,  and  he  wanted 
to  see  the  latest  accounts  of  himself,  and  of  the 
town. 

Would  Morris  sell  a  paper  to  him,  he  wondered  ?  A 
knock  came  at  the  outer  door,  a  quiet,  respectful 
knock  as  of  one  who  hesitated  to  disturb  him. 

"  Come  in  !  "   he  called. 

And,  hat  in  hand,  Dave  Morris  stood  before  him. 

"  Good-mornin',  Mr.  Wilkerson." 

"  Good-morning,"  and  Jerry  rose  with  his  hand  well 
round  on  his  hip. 

"  Hope  you  don't  bear  no  malice,  Mr.  Wilkerson  ?  " 
Morris  asked,  leaning  on  the  back  of  the  chair  Jerry 
had  offered  him. 

"  I  have  no  need  to  bear  malice,"  Jerry  answered, 
looking  him  over  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Thet's  true,"  slowly,  not  looking  up,  "  the  knock 
come  from  you  ;"  then  sitting  down,  "  but  I've  come 
for  peace  to-day,  durned  if  I  aint." 

"  No  cursing,  please,"  and  Jerry  before  he  sat  down 
laid  a  pistol  on  the  table. 

Morris  paused  a  moment,  while  a  dull  red  heat  crept 
up  his  face  ;  why  did  not  he  kill  this  young  man  ?  but 
this  question  found  no  utterance,  and  he  began 
slowly  : 

"  I've  come  to  say,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  thet  if  there's 
anything  I  kin  do  to  help  you  on  a  bit,  I'm  ready  : 
I'm  your  friend,  I  am." 

Jerry  gathered  up  the  remains  of  his  lunch  and  put 
them  back  into  the  bucket. 

"  An'  if  you  want  me  to  stop  the  fellers  from  buyin' 
whisky,"  Morris  went  on,  "  I  kin  do  it,"  looking  up 
slowly  ;  "  I  heard  you  the  mornin'  that  you  said  for  the 
fellers  not  to  put  up  their  money  in  my  whisky 
barr'ls  ;  an'  I'm  agreed  to  it  provided,"  pausing 
and  fixing  his  eyes  on  Jerry's  eyes  that  looked  at 


198  JERRY. 

him  so  steadily — "  provided  I  know  your  idea," 
cautiously. 

"  I  have  none,"  and  Jerry  cocked  and  uncocked  his 
pistol  carelessly. 

By  some  means — whether  fear,  or  hope  of  gain, 
Jerry  could  not  decide — this  man  had  been  made 
anxious  to  join  him,  and  Jerry  saw  his  advantage. 
Again  the  trigger  of  the  pistol  clicked  sharply  in  the 
silence. 

Morris  moved  his  chair  uneasily  ;  a  loaded  pistol 
turned  about  recklessly  in  another  man's  hands  is  not 
a  pleasant  or  reassuring  sight, 

"  You  had  ideas  the  mornin'  you  talked  to  the 
fellers,"  Morris  said  at  last. 

"  And  you  heard  them,"  Jerry  answered. 

"  I  did,  but  I  think  I'd  like  to  hear  'em  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  then  Jerry  answered  : 
"  I  told  them  that  I  wanted  them  to  take  all  the  work 
they  could  get,  never  mind  who  gave  it  to  them  ;  I 
told  them  I  wanted  them  to  keep  whatever  land  they 
owned  either  in  Eureka  or  in  Burden's ;  I  told  them 
that  I  would  watch  for  them,  and  that  whichever 
town  the  strangers  built  up,  we  would  build  up  the 
other  ;  I  told  them  that  when  the  time  came  we  should 
need  money,  and  that  they  must  save  all  they  could." 
He  ceased,  and  Dave  Morris's  small,  bleared  eyes 
watched  him  keenly. 

"  An'  you'll  build  up  a  town  without  no  money  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"I  have  said  we  would  need  money,"  Jerry  an- 
swered curtly,  "and  that  the  people  must  save  it." 

"  Live  at  a  dollar  a  day  and  save  money  ?  " 

"  It  can  be  done  easily." 

"  An'  then  what  ?  "  skeptically. 

Jerry  looked  up  coldly. 

"  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  tell  you  my  plans," 
he  said. 

"  You  don't,  don't  you  ?  "  and  Morris  put  a  piece 
of  tobacco  in  his  mouth  with  a  swaggering  air,  "  I  tell 


JERRY. 

you  I  kin  save  more  money  for  you  in  Eureky,  than 
all  the  men  there." 

"  Do  it,  then." 

Morris  looked  at  him  with  distrust  in  his  eyes  ;  no 
man  who  was  not  entirely  independent  would  speak  so 
shortly  ;  and  he  answered  slowly  : 

"  Thet's  right  easy  said,  Mr.  Wilkerson  ;  but  I  don't 
know  that  I'm  goin'  to  stop  a  good  whisky  trade 
without  knowin'  what's  to  do  afterwerds." 

Jerry  was  silent  for  a  moment  :  what  Morris  said 
was  true  ;  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  save  the 
people's  money  as  long  as  Morris  sold  them  whisky  ; 
nor  could  he  expect  him  to  stop  his  chief  trade  with- 
out some  prospect  of  compensation  ;  yet  to  reveal  his 
plans  would  be  ruin  ;  and  Jerry  was  puzzled. 

Dan  Burk  !  the  name  flashed  into  his  mind  like  a 
beam  of  light.  Burk  was  a  higher  type,  and  could 
manage  Morris  and  Eureka  too. 

"  Very  well,"  Jerry  answered  carelessly,  while  his 
plans  formed  themselves  rapidly  rn  his  mind,  "  if  you 
can  not  trust  me,  you  need  not  help  me.  Besides,  I 
think  my  work  will  lie  in  Durden's,  and  there  are  those 
there  who  will  do  as  I  wish  and  ask  no  questions"; 
then  laying  down  his  pistol,  and  crossing  his  arms  on 
the  table,  he  looked  straight  into  Morris's  face.  "  I  will 
give  you  a  friendly  warning,"  he  said  ;  "  your  trade  is 
going  to  fail  you  :  the  men  who  live  here,  soon  will 
have  no  money  to  spend  at  your  shop,  for  the  new 
people  who  come  will  rather  employ  the  new  men  who 
come  with  them,  and  there  will  not  be  work  enough 
for  all.  More  than  this,  new  people  who  know  what 
decent  things  are  will  not  trade  with  you,  and  you 
will  be  simply  crowded  out." 

Morris's  face  flamed  with  color  ;  he  shuffled  his  feet 
restlessly,  while  his  hand  sought  the  leather  belt  about 
his  waist.  Jerry  did  not  seem  to  heed  him,  and  only 
changed  his  position  sufficiently  to  begin  a^ain  his 
idle  play  with  his  pistol. 

"  This  place  will  be  taken  in  hand  by  great  cap- 


200  JERR  Y. 

italists,"  he  went  on  quietly,  "  and  the  people  here 
can  expect  to  hold  their  own  only  a  little  while  longer  ; 
then  they  must  move  further  west,  or  retreat  to  Dur- 
den's.  They  have  ma*de  enemies  of  two  of  the  lead- 
ing men,  and  must  expect  no  favors." 

"  An'  you  done  it  for  'em !  "  Morris  brok^  in 
angrily. 

"  And  am  glad  that  I  did,"  was  answered  coolly, 
"  for  now  I  can  put  them  in  a  better  condition  than 
ever  before ;  and  make  money  faster  for  them  :  only 
they  must  trust  me." 

Morris's  whole  expression  changed,  and  he  leaned 
forward  eagerly. 

"  Is  Dan  Burk  the  feller  ? "  he  asked,  "  is  he  the 
feller  you  think  of  to  help  you  ? " 

Jerry  laughed  a  little. 

"  So  long  as  you  are  not  the  man,"  he  answered, 
"  I  do  not  know  that  any  part  of  this  scheme  is  your 
business." 

Morris  rose  hastily. 

"  Damn — "  then  his  voice  died  away  in  his  throat, 
for  Jerry's  pistol  covered  him,  and  its  little  mouth 
looked  huge,  and  the  shining  hammer  was  drawn  far 
back  !  One  moment  he  glared  on  the  quiet,  dark  face 
opposite,  then  sat  down  slowly  ;  and  Jerry,  who  had 
not  moved,  laid  his  pistol  down  and  waited  for  Morris 
to  speak.  He  had  not  long  to  wait,  then  Morris 
asked  sullenly  : 

"  What'll  you  pay  me  to  stop  the  whisky  trade  ? " 

"  Nothing." 

"An"  how's  it  goin*  to  help  me?  "  anger  creeping 
into  his  voice  again. 

"You  will  be  a  more  honest  man,"  Jerry  answered, 
smiling,  "  and  will  allow  other  men  to  be  more  honest 
and  decent,  and  you  will  be  better  in  health." 

"  An'  my  fambly'll  starve." 

"  Not  more  than  other  families  you  have  ruined." 

"  Mr.  Wilkerson — "  menacingly  ;  but  the  children 
began  to  come  in,  and  Jerry  rose. 


JERRY. 


201 


"  I  will  be  here  this  afternoon  at  five,"  he  said, 
"  and  to-morrow  at  twelve  if  you  wish  to  see  me  again." 

Baffled  and  angry,  Morris  rose  :  there  was  some- 
thing in  this  young  man  that  he  could  not  grapple 
with  :  he  hated  him  bitterly  for  his  insults  and  slights 
that  would  have  cost  any  other  man  his  life,  but  he 
was  afraid  of  him.  Morris  had  killed  men  for  far 
less.  But  now  he  stood  twisting  his  hat  about  in  his 
hands,  while  Jerry  watched  him,  and  waited  for  his 
going — watched  and  waited  silently,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ugly,  sullen,  face.  It  was  only  a  moment 
or  two  he  had  to  wait,  then  the  greasy  old  hat  was 
donned,  and  Morris  turned  to  the  door.  "  I'll  come 
to-morrer,"  he  said,  and  made  his  way  out  through  a 
group  of  children. 

Jerry  drew  a  long  breath,  partly  of  satisfaction, 
partly  of  doubt.  Had  he  been  wise  to  refuse  so 
entirely  this  man's  support  and  assistance,  basing  his 
plans  on  Dan  Burk,  to  whom  he  had  not  as  yet 
spoken  on  the  subject  ?  And  would  Morris  come 
again  to-morrow,  or  would  he  form  a  rival  party  ? 

The  long,  gray  afternoon  dragged  its  weary  length  ; 
the  children  droned  through  their  lessons  ;  and  in  the 
pauses  the  crickets  cried  their  ceaseless  monotone. 
Nothing  stirred  in  the  clouded  stillness;  and  when 
the  tasks  were  done  and  the  children  dismissed  ;  when 
the  gray  day  showed  its  death  by  growing  yet  more 
gray  and  still,  Jerry  heard  the  bugle-call  rise  soft 
and  clear — echoed  back  by  the  great  mountains  until 
it  died  slowly  from  the  world. 

There  was  an  inexplicable  pain  to  him  in  the  sound 
of  that  horn,  almost  as  if  he  had  been  called  and 
could  not  answer — could  not  go.  As  if  he  had  left 
all  he  cared  for  ;  as  if  in  some  unwilling  way  he  had 
descended  from  his  sphere  and  station. 

Then  with  a  bitter  scorn  of  self  he  would  remember 
that  he  had  been  born  to  no  station,  as  the  meaning 
of  the  word  was  taken  ;  and  the  sphere  he  had  moved 
in  until  it  seemed  his  by  right,  had  been  opened  to 


202 

him  through  charity.  He  was  only  one  of  the  "  com- 
mon herd  " — a  favorite  phrase  of  Paul's — one  who 
would  have  to  make  a  name  and  place  ;  and  who 
would  have  only  such  foothold  in  life  as  he  cut  for 
himself. 

He  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

"  A  key  of  gold  fits  most  locks,"  he  said  to  himself 
as  he  went  his  way  up  the  rough  mountain  path. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  We  pant,  we  strain  like  birds  against  the  wires  ; 
Are  sick  to  reach  the  vast  and  the  beyond ; — 
And  what  avails,  if  still  to  our  desires 
Those  far-off  gulfs  respond  ?  " 

"  Contentment  comes  therefore  ;  still,  there  lies 

An  outer  distance  when  the  first  is  hailed, 
And  still  forever  yawns  before  our  eyes 
An  utmost — that  is  veiled." 

JERRY  was  glad  that  he  had  the  fire  to  make  and  the 
supper  to  cook,  for  this  every-day  work  brought 
him  back  to  a  realization  of  his  position  and  of  all 
he  owed  Joe,  for  whom  he  now  had  a  much  higher 
respect  than  for  either  himself  or  the  doctor. 

The  corn-bread  was  assuming  a  most  approved 
brown  tint ;  the  bacon  was  crisping  and  curling  ;  the 
coffee  was  bubbling  and  muttering-in  the  pot,  sending 
out  a  grateful  fragrance.  Homely,  coarse  fare,  and 
Jerry  knew  it.  He  had  read  of  the  banquets  and 
feasts  of  ages  gone,  and  had  read  modern  novels 
about  the  many  alluring  ways  of  feeding  people  which 
fashion  invents  and  money  pays  for.  He  had  read  it 
all  with  a  sort  of  scorn  at  first,  but  later  with  a  changed 
feeling  that  grew  to  be  a  longing  to  see  the  sights  and 
hear  the  beautiful  sounds  of  music  and  laughter  that 
must  fill  in  these  pictures.  And  lovely  women  :  he 
had  read  of  them  too,  and  paused  a  moment  as  he 
turned  the  bread  that  was  browned  on  one  side  ;  how 
would  they  look  ?  He  had  never  seen  one  save  once 
when  he  was  alone  in  the  doctor's  study,  and  before 
him  on  the  table  lay  a  case,  a  red  morocco  case.  It 
was  different  in  shape  from  any  he  had  ever  seen 
before,  and  what  could  it  contain  ?  It  did  not  occur 

203 


204 

to  him  that  there  was  any  wrong  in  opening  it,  and  he 
unhooked  the  clasp  without  one  tremor  of  his  honest 
boyish  heart. 

A  sweet  fair  face,  that  was  more  delicate  than  any 
he  had  ever  seen:  he  did  not  know  if  it  were  beautiful, 
for  he  had  no  standard  ;  he  had  never  seen  any  faces 
since  he  could  remember,  save  those  of  the  work- 
hardened,  slovenly  drudges  about  the  towns  where  he 
lived  ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  picture  that 
held  him.  It  looked  so  small  and  fine,  like  some  of 
the  flowers  he  had  seen  among  the  rocks,  but  had 
never  picked  because  somehow  he  knew  that  one 
touch  would  kill  them. 

The  eyes  met  his  with  an  expression  as  if  they  once 
had  pleaded  for  protection,  but  afterwards  had  learned 
a  look  of  bravery  ;  and  the  mouth  was  pained. 

"  Poor  little  thing,"  he  had  said,  and  had  sighed  as 
if  he  knew  the  sorrow  that  looked  from  her  eyes.  He 
felt  that  he  would  have  spent  his  life  in  saving  her 
from  ill  ! 

Of  course  he  was  a  fool,  and  that  face  was  only  a 
picture,  maybe  of  the  doctor's  mother  or  grandmother 
who  had  died  long  ago. 

Poor  woman  ! 

Then  he  shut  the  case  ;  a  new  thought  had  flashed 
on  him  ;  maybe  this  face  had  been  the  one  face  that 
the  world  had  held  for  the  doctor?  And  had  she 
died  ?  and  so  he  had  come  out  to  waste  his  life  on  the 
people.  Was  this  the  secret  of  that  life  ? 

But  the  memory  of  that  face  never  left  Jerry  en- 
tirely, and  it  became  the  nucleus  about  which  all  his 
youthful  dreams  grouped  themselves.  If  he  could 
only  know  a  face  like  that :  could  only  move  in  a 
world  where  such  refinement  was  common.  Paul 
could,  but  he  could  not :  could  not  until  he  made  a 
golden  key. 

He  turned  the  bread  carefully  while  he  pondered 
on  the  discontent  that  had  culminated  so  suddenly  in 
his  heart.  If  the  doctor  had  not  turned  from  him  he 


JERRY.  '205 

would  have  been  satisfied  always  with  the  old  life  ;  but 
now  all  was  changed  and  he  was  filled  with  a  restless 
ambition  and  jealousy  :  feelings  which  he  fully  recog- 
nized, and  a  year  ago  would  have  despised.  Now  he 
must  rise — if  it  took  a  lifetime  to  mount  one  step  ! 

Perhaps  when  he  was  an  old  man  he  would  see  slich 
faces  about  him.  When  his  eyes  were  too  dim  to  see 
almost,  and  his  ears  too  dull  to  hear,  and  his  heart 
too  weary  to  love,  then  all  these  things  would  come 
to  him  ! 

"  Well,"  and  Joe  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  How  are  you  ? "  Jerry  answered,  and  turned  to  the 
table. 

"  Thar's  a  paper,"  and  Joe  laid  the  printed  sheet 
down,  "  it  cusses  youuns  wuss  an'  wusser  ;  durned  if 
I'd  stan'  it." 

Jerry  put  the  paper  on  the  shelf. 

"I  will  have  my  say  some  time,"  he  answered. 

"  An'  Dave  Morris  says  as  youuns  is  welcome  to  the 
paper  when  you  wants  it." 

"  Dave  Morris  ? " 

"  Thet's  what  I  said,"  sitting  down  near  the  table. 

"  You  have  been  there  to-day  ?  " 

"I  hev." 

Jerry  poured  out  the  coffee  in  silence  :  questioning 
was  not  customary  between  them,  and  what  else  there 
was  to  be  told  must  await  Joe's  pleasure.  The  supper 
was  over  and  the  few  things  washed  and  put  away  : 
then  Jerry  lighted  the  lamp  and  took  up  the  news- 
paper, and  Joe  filled  his  pipe. 

Truly,  as  Joe  said,  the  abuse  and  misrepresenta- 
tions seemed  to  culminate  in  this  paper.  There  was 
nothing  too  false  to  be  said — nothing  too  wild  to  be 
predicted  ;  and  at  the  end  a  comment  by  the  far-off 
city  editor,  that  many  of  the  idle  and  worthless  in  the 
city  were  coming  out  to  throw  in  their  lots  with  the 
"  redoubtable  Jeremiah  P.  Wilkerson."  Jerry  read  it 
over  again — "  the  idle  and  worthless,"  the  paper  said  : 
what  should  he  do  with  them  ?  His  heart  sank  within 


206  JERR  y. 

him.     The  little  ball  he  had  set  rolling  was  taking 
such  appalling  proportions. 

"  Dave  Morris  says  as  youuns  is  the  peskyist  var- 
mint as  ever  he's  knowed,"  Joe  broke  in,  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  "  an'  I  says,  says  I,  '  Dave, 
Jerry'll  kill  you  'thout  thinkin','  says  I,"  and  Joe 
chuckled  contentedly  to  himself. 

This  described  his  ideal  hero,  a  man  who  "  killed 
without  thinking,"  and  that  Jerry  should  hold  this 
proud  position,  and  hold  it  in  the  estimation  of  the 
man  who  harried  all  Eureka,  was  to  him  an  infinite 
satisfaction. 

Jerry  put  down  the  paper  ;  he  was  anxious  to  know 
of  Joe's  interview  with  Dave  Morris. 

"  Morris  came  to  see  me  to-day,"  he  said. 
"  An'  come  back  mashed  jest  as  flat  !  "  Joe  an- 
swered with  a  readiness  that  showed  his  pleasure. 
"  An'  I  axes  him,  '  Dave,  did  you  skeer  Jerry  ? ' 
Lord  !  "  slapping  his  leg,  "  you  jest  oughter  seen 
him,  Jerry  ;  I  'How  he'd  a-liked  to  eat  me  jest  whole, 
he  would  ;  says  he,  '  Joe  Gilliam,  youuns  aint  got 
but  one  hide,'  says  he,  cussin'  awful,  '  an'  if  you 
keeps  on  a-pesterin*  me  I'll  jest  use  it  up,'  says 
he." 

"  And  you  ?  "  Jerry  asked. 

"  I  jest  knocked  him  down,"  pleasantly,  "  I  gin  him 
a  eye  thet'll  not  look  purty  fur  a  while,"  and  Joe 
chuckled  a  little — "  but  I  tole  him  as  a  rotten  apple 
were  mighty  good  fur  it."  Then  Joe  returned  to  his 
pipe. 

He  had  gone  to  Dave  Morris's  shop  to  intimidate 
him,  and  had  succeeded  in  doing  not  only  this,  but  in 
addition  had  knocked  the  man  down.  This  had  been 
his  day's  work,  and  he  had  been  happy  in  it ;  Jerry 
had  knocked  Dave  Morris  down  one  day,  and  he,  the 
next ;  what  more  could  Eureka  need  to  prove  to  her 
that  these  men  from  the  Durden's  side  were  superior  ? 
Knowing  the  people,  Joe  knew  that  his  and  Jerry's 
reputations  were  made  now  ;  and  that  no  man  in 


JERRY.  '207 

either  town  would  touch  them  without  much  thought 
and  calculation  as  to  the  consequences. 

It  was  a  happy  feeling  that  came  over  Joe  ;  a  calm 
assurance  that  he  had  done  his  duty  by  Jerry,  and  at 
the  same  time  had  won  renown  in  Eureka.  Surely  a 
good  day's  work. 

Then  Jerry  looked  up  suddenly. 

"  Who  owns  Burden's  Mine  ?  he  asked. 

The  fire  still  threw  its  quaint  shadows  ;  the  lamp 
still  burned  with  unwavering  brightness  ;  it  must  have 
have  been  Joe's  eyes  that  flickered  and  winced  until 
the  room  seemed  dark — flickered  for  a  moment  so 
that  he  could  not  see  the  face  of  the  younger  man — 
and  when  he  spoke  his  voice  had  changed. 

"  Burden's  Mine  ?  "  he  repeated — "  Burden's  Mine  ? 
I  dunno  fur  rayly." 

So  Jerry  had  heard  what  he  had  said  by  mistake 
the  other  night. 

And  Jerry  took  the  shade  from  off  the  lamp,  and 
looked  at  the  wick  as  if  something  ailed  the  light. 
"  I  thought  you  would  know,"  Jerry  said  slowly,  while 
many  surmises  as  to  Joe's  words  flashed  through  his 
mind  unbidden — "  and  that  you  would  tell  me  about 
it  ;  for  if  I  know  who  owns  it,  and  can  find  out  from 
the  owner  its  value,  I  can  the  more  easily  persuade 
the  people  to  buy  land  in  Burden's." 

"  An'  open  the  mine  agin  ?  "  was  questioned  in  a 
lowered  voice  as  of  one  in  fear  of  some  catastrophe. 

"  Of  course  that  would  be  the  plan,"  raising  the 
paper  again  between  him  and  Joe,  "  that,  or  find  gold 
somewhere  else  near  at  hand  ;  I  suppose  it  lies  all 
about  here." 

He  had  not  looked  at  Joe  since  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion about  the  ownership  of  the  mine,  and  now  went 
back  to  a  pretense  of  reading  in  order  to  be  able  to 
collect  his  thoughts  and  reason  them  free  from  his 
suspicions. 

And  Joe  sat  still  with  his  pipe  going  out,  and  his 
eyes  fixed  blankly  on  the  fire. 


208  JERRY. 

It  had  been  many  a  long  year, — many  a  long  year 
since  he  had  been  warned  that  some  bad  end  would 
come  ;  many  a  long  year  since  he  had  been  pleaded 
with  to  come  away  and  let  the  place  alone ;  many  a 
year. 

He  glanced  furtively  at  the  corner  where  the  dog 
Buck  lay  sleeping  ;  then  vaguely  up  along  the  rafters  ; 
then  back  again  into  the  leaping  fire  that,  even  though 
it  was  August,  did  not  seem  able  to  warm  him  now. 

The  Devil  had  made  gold,  she  had  said  ;  God  had 
nevef  made  that  thing  that  ran  men  crazy  ;  the  awful 
gold  that  shone  in  their  eyes  until  they  could  see  noth- 
ing else.  And  she  had  made  him  bury  her  in  a  place 
where  there  was  no  mark  of  gold  ;  no  trace  of  the 
kind  of  rock  that  held  it,  else  somebody  would  come 
some  day  and  dig  her  up  to  hunt  for  gold,  and  she 
and  the  baby  wanted  to  rest.  And  gold  would  break 
his  heart  some  day,  she  said  :  would  it  ? 

It  was  very  long  ago  since  his  "  little  Nan  "  had 
warned  him — very  long  ago,  but  dead  people  surely 
came  back — surely  !  And  he  knew  the  path  so  well 
and  every  rock  by  the  way  ;  and  everything  was  so 
convenient  there  ;  his  eyes  knew  the  darkness,  and 
his  back  knew  the  angles  and  curves  in  the  rocks  ; 
and  his  lantern,  would  it  burn  anywhere  else — or  his 
pick  break  any  other  stone  ?  And  the  nuggets  ; — the 
little  shining  nuggets, — he  had  found  so  many  of  them 
washed  down  by  the  water  that  dropped  and  dropped 
forever,  and  that  far  back  in  an  unknown  corner  helped 
to  make  a  stream  that  flowed  away — lost  itself.  And 
all  that  he  gathered  was  for  Jerry,  all  of  it ;  and  if 
others  came  in  all  else  that  would  be  found  should 
have  to  be  divided. 

No,  of  course  there  was  no  gold  in  Burden's  Mine! 
and  he  drew  his  chair  nearer  the  fire. 

"  Thar's  gole  in  the  water  thet  runs  down  the 
mountain,"  he  said  at  last  ;  and  Jerry  looked  up. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  gold  all  through  that  gorge," 
he  answered,  "even  if  the  old  mine  is  worn  out"; 


JERRY.  209 

then  more  slowly,  "  It  is  not  the  mine  that  I  want  so 
much  as  it  is  all  the  land  about  it." 

Joe  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  filled  it 
freshly  ;  "  I  'Hows  as  it  aint  lucky,  the  gittin'  of  gole," 
he  said  ;  "  my  Nancy  Ann  says,  say  she,  '  Joe,  don't 
you  tech  no  sich  work,'  says  she,  '  'cause  I  'Hows  the 
devil  made  gole  ;  God  never  done  no  sicher  thing  as 
thet,'  says  she,  '  to  shine  an'  shine  in  a  man's  eyes  tell 
he  can't  see  nothin'  else,'  says  she — "puffing  slowly  at 
his  pipe,  "  an'  youuns  done  hed  a  warnin',  Jerry,  a 
rale  warnin',"  almost  angrily,  "  an'  you  'Hows  thet 
it's  a  sin  to  speckylate  in  Ian',  an'  is  jest  a-bein'  cussed 
out  'bout  it,  an'  now  you  is  jest  a-hankerin'  atter 
it." 

"  Not  as  a  speculation,"  Jerry  answered  ;  "  I  want  it 
to  help  those  who  have  been  hurt  by  speculators.  I 
want  to  give  our  people  who  have  lived  here  always, 
as  good  a  town  as  these  new  people  expect  to  have  ; 
I  want  to  give  them  mines  to  work  in  that  will  cause 
the  railway  to  build  a  station  at  Burden's  also  ;  I  want 
to  give  them  a  good  school ;  I  want  to  make  the  men 
more  sober  and  decent,  and  the  women  more  clean 
and  respectable  ;  I  want — " 

"  To  maker  fool  of  yourself,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  Joe 
struck  in  unexpectedly,  while  the  angry  color  flashed 
into  Jerry's  face.  "  Youuns  hes  been  a-livin'  in  the 
doctor's  steddy — a-drinkin'  books  an'  papers  ;  an' 
Burden's  an'  Eureky's  been  a-livin'  in  dirt,  an'  a- 
drinkin'  whisky ;  'an'  they  loves  it,  yes,  jest  like 
youuns  loves  the  books  an'  the  papers,  they  do  ;  an' 
lemme  tell  you  jest  one  perticler — if  you  wants 
to  start  this  po'  trash  off,  you'll  hev  to  promise  'em 
money,  an'  piles  of  it ;  an'  if  you  don't  give  it  to 
'em,  they'll  kill  you  in  a  minute  ;  jest  you  'member 
thet  !  "  shaking  his  head,  "  orl  they  wants,  or  knows 
'bout,  is  whisky,  an'  terbackey,  an'  dirt ;  they's  usen 
to  it — an'  born  to  it — an'  likes  it.  Lord  !  "  taking  a 
puff  at  his  pipe,  "  an'  the  wimmins  is  satisfy  'cause 
they  'specks  to  be  beat,  an'  needs  it  too," 


210  JERRY. 

Jerry  had  turned  away,  and  again  had  raised  the 
paper  before  his  face. 

"I  do  not  agree  with  you,"  was  all  he  said  when 
Joe's  voice  ceased. 

"  Orl  right,"  and  Joe  chuckled  to  himself,  "  but 
thar's  one  thing  I'm  gettin'  to  be  powerful  sure  'bout, 
an'  it's  thet  the  doctor  onderstan's  these  mean  critters 
better'n  I  'Mowed  jest  at  fust ;  he  do  thet." 

Jerry  moved  his  feet  impatiently. 

"  It's  the  Lord's  truth,"  Joe  went  on  ;  "  an'  when 
they've  jest  plum  killed  you  out,  they'll  stan'  squar' 
up  to  the  doctor  an'  to  Paul,  jest  you  watch  an'  see  " 
— looking  anxiously  at  the  paper  behind  which  Jerry 
hid  himself — "  'cause  the  doctor  an'  Paul  jest  stomps 
on  'em  'thout  axin'  no  questions,  they  do, — jest 
stomps  'em  clean  out  ;  "  then  more  slowly,  "  I  aint 
got  much  larnin',  but  I  knows  a  pig  loves  its  mudhole, 
an'  a  dorg  is  better  fur  beatin',  an'  it  aint  agoin'  to  do 
no  good  to  tuck  them  things  away.  They's  mad 
alonger  the  doctor  now,  'cause  youuns  is  done  showed 
'em  thet  they's  been  'posed  on ;  but  they  aint  .agoin' 
to  'member  thet  long ;  an'  when  they  gits  to  doin' 
nothin'  ceppen  steddy  'bout  youuns — Lord  !  you'll 
hanker  alter  gittin'  shed  of  livin', — you  bet  !  " 

"And  you  do  not  know  who  own  Burden's  Mine  ?  " 
Jerry  repeated  coldly. 

"  No,  I  dunno,"  he  answered  slowly,  then  moved 
his  chair  outside  where  no  more  such  questions  could 
reach  him. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  and  also  this 
Fell  into  dust,  and  I  was  left  alone." 

DAN  BURK  would  know. 
This  thought  had  come  to  Jerry  in  the  night,  and 
he  determined   to  follow  it   up.     As  far  back  as 
he  could  remember,  he  had  heard  Joe  speak  of  Dan 
Burk  more  than  of  any  one  else  save  the  doctor  ;  and 
Jerry  felt  quite  sure  that  Dan  could  tell  him  all  he 
wanted  to  know,  and  more,  for  Dan  was  an  older  in- 
habitant than  Joe,  and  would  know  more  of  the  local 
history. 

Another  fact  of  which  Jerry  was  now  convinced 
was  that  Joe  got  his  money  from  Durden's  Mine, 
which  made  his  lack  of  knowledge  as  to  the  owner- 
ship seem  more  strange.  But  Burk  would  know,  and 
Jerry  was  determined  to  make  Burk  tell  him  all  that 
was  known  of  the  mine.  Durden's  had  been  always  a 
strange  story  to  him  ;  as  long  as  he  had  believed  what 
the  doctor  had  told  him,  that  the  better  find  was  at 
Eureka — and  had  remembered  what  Joe  had  told  him 
in  his  childhood  about  Durden's  as  a  fairy  story, — 
he  could  understand  the  desertion  of  Durden's  ;  but  if, 
as  Joe  had  lately  revealed,  Durden's  mine  was  full  of 
gold,  why  had  it  been  deserted — surely  not  for  a  ghost 
story  !  It  was  true  that  the  people  were  not  aggres- 
sively energetic;  and  as  the  Doctor  and  'Lije  Milton  had 
invested  in  Eureka  it  was  natural,  perhaps,  that  the 
people  should  follow  ;  but  still,  Joe's  assertion  of  the 
richness  of  the  mine  made  the  facts  hard  to  be  under- 
stood. And  now  that  he  had  committed  himself  so 
far  that  he  could  not  go  back,  he  must  get  at  the  truth 
of  the  story. 


212  JERRY. 

His  scheme  was  far  within  the  bounds  of  possibil- 
ity ;  and  success  would  bring  him  money,  the  one 
thing  ne  needed  to  put  him  on  a  level  with  Paul,  and 
to  compel  the  doctor  to  respect  his  shrewdness  at 
least. 

He  would  go  to  Dan  Burk  in  the  morning  before 
school,  and  if  he  gained  any  information  it  would  help 
him  in  his  interview  with  Morris. 

He  left  home  as  early  as  Joe  that  day,  only  waititig 
until  he  was  out  of  sight.  He  thought  he  had  never 
known  Joe  to  take  so  long  to  go  ;  he  was  excited  and 
restless,  and  the  waiting  was  trying. 

The  paper  he  had  read  the  night  before  had  put 
new  thoughts  into  his  mind  ;  he  was  known  out  there 
in  the  East  much  more  than  where  he  lived,  and  was 
looked  on  as  a  crafty  mob-leader — as  a  violent  com- 
munist— as  a  dangerous  demagogue  ;  and  men  were 
coming  out  to  cast  in  their  fortunes  .with  his — to  fol- 
low him  wherever  he  should  lead. 

This  sudden  thought  had  demoralized  him  for  a 
little  while,  but  now  he  had  recovered  himself,  and 
was  determined  to  be  ready  for  all  who  should  come. 
A  new  excitement  was  creeping  into  his  veins  ;  his 
army  that  was  to  do  battle  against  influence  and  cap- 
ital ;  that  was  to  win  for  all  who  came  after  a  foot- 
hold and  a  hope  ;  that  was  to  make  him  triumphant — 
this  army  was  fast  doubling  itself.  The  "  halt,  and 
the  maimed,  and  the  blind  "  were  coming,  "  with 
neither  scrip  nor  purse  " — coming  to  test  a  great 
question,  and  to  prove  once  more,  in  the  long,  dark 
history  of  the  world,  the  power  of  the  people  ! 

He  walked  more  rapidly  to  keep  pace  with  his 
thoughts.  Of  course  Joe  would  not  have  worked  in 
Burden's  Mine  all  these  years,  his  thoughts  ran  on, 
unless  there  was  gold  to  be  found  there.  It  would 
hurt  him  to  stop,  but  the  avarice  of  one  man  could 
not  stand  against  the  gain  of  the  many  ;  Joe  had  had 
long  years  in  which  to  lay  up  store,  now  he  must 
stop ;  indeed,  he  was  too  old  to  do  such  hard  work, 


JERRY.  213 

and  once  well  started,  Jerry  knew  that  he  could  sup- 
port them  both  easily. 

Early  as  it  was,  Dan  Burk's  door  was  open,  and  he 
and  his  shop  were  both  dirty.  There  were  no 
loungers  about  as  yet,  however,  and  Jerry  felt  he  had 
done  well  to  come  at  this  hour  ;  for  besides  the  quiet, 
Dan  had  had  nothing  to  drink. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,  Mr.  Burk,"  Jerry  began, 
"  and  had  no  other  time  ;  can  you  spare  me  a  half- 
hour  ?" 

"  I  reckon,"  and  Dan  placed  a  chair  for  his  vis- 
itor. 

"  Who  owns  Durden's  Mine  ?  "  the  question  was  so 
sudden  that  Dan  started,  with  a  betraying  look  of 
wonder  in  his  eyes. 

"  Durden's  Mine  ?  "  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,"  and  Jerry  did  not  move  his  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?  "  cautiously. 

"  Tell  me  ;  you  will  not  lose  anything  by  it,"  and 
the  two  men  looked  fully  and  searchingly  into  each 
other's  eyes.  The  suspicious,  treacherous  eye  of  the 
shopkeeper — the  tired,  keen  eyes  of  the  clever  school- 
master who  had  just  now  begun  to  measure  his 
strength  against  the  world. 

"  All  right,"  and  Dan  laid  his  hand  on  Jerry's  knee, 
"it's  Mis.  Milton's." 

For  a  moment  Jerry  looked  at  him  in  silence  ;  was 
he  telling  the  truth  ?  Could  this  be  the  truth  and  Joe 
not  know  it  ? 

"  I'll  go  with  you  and  ask  her,"  the  man  went  on, 
his  face  reddening  angrily  under  his  companion's  eyes  ; 
"  has  Joe  lied  ?  " 

"  That  will  do  !  "  and  a  look  flashed  on  him  that 
made  the  words  die  on  his  lips  ;  he  had  heard  of  the 
difficulty  with  Morris. 

"  And  she  owns  all  the  land  near  it  ? "  rising. 

"  She  does." 

"  Will  she  sell  ? " 

"  She  will,  an'  be  glad." 


214  JERRY. 

Then  Jerry  turned  away,  looking  out  the  door  and 
down  the  road  to  the  doctor's  house  ;  he  could  see 
the  chairs  on  the  piazza,  and  some  one  tramping  up 
and  down  ;  how  strange  it  was  that  he  could  not  go 
there  now,  artd  ask  advice — when,  and  where,  and 
how  had  the  breach  between  them  begun  ? 

"  You  will  not  mention  this,"  he  said  at  last,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  again  on  Burk,  "  if  you  do — " 

"  It's  all  right — all  right,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  all  right," 
the  man  interrupted  eagerly,  "  it's  for  you  to  remem- 
ber, please,  that  I  aint  said  nuthin'." 

"  Very  well,"  and  Jerry  walked  away. 

Joe  had  lied  !  and  he  drew  a  long  breath.  Joe, 
whom  he  had  trusted  more  than  he  would  have 
trusted  himself  ;  Joe,  whom  he  had  looked  on  as  the 
one  honest  man  he  knew  ;  Joe,  whom  in  the  last  few 
weeks  he  had  put  far  above  the  doctor  for  the  exquis- 
ite quality  of  sincerity  ! 

He  walked  rapidly,  and  his  heels  struck  sharply  on 
the  hardened  soil. 

Who  could  be  trusted  ? 

Slowly  the  long  story  unwound  itself,  this  one  clew 
showed  him  all.  'Lije  Milton  had  owned  the  mine  ; 
had  been  unable  to  put  workmen  into  it  because  of 
the  mysterious  sights  and  sounds  that  haunted  it  ; 
had  gone  in  himself — 

Jerry's  thoughts  stopped,  and  a  cold  sweat  came 
out  on  him,  and  his  mind  went  groping  back  to  that 
day  when  he  had  gone  to  see  'Lije  Milton  buried  ; 
what  were  all  the  circumstances — what  had  Joe  told 
him  ? 

He  could  not  remember,  save  that  'Lije  had  met 
with  some  injury  in  the  mine  from  which  he  had  never 
recovered. 

He-drew  his  hand  across  his  brow,  and  sat  down 
on  a  stone.  If  only  he  could  recall  and  be  able  to 
put  together  all  that  had  been  told  him.  How  long 
had  old  Burden  been  dead  ;  how  long  had  Joe  been 
gathering  gold  on  his  own  account ;  how  long  had 


JERRY.  215 

'Lije  Milton  owned  the  mine  ?  He  remembered  that 
'Lije  had  been  the  discoverer  of  the  new  mine  in 
Eureka,  and  reaping  gold  from  there,  had  been  con- 
tent, probably,  to  let  his  old  property  go. 

Jerry  rose  slowly:  he  would  not  think  these  thoughts 
any  longer  ;  he  dared  not  formulate  any  theory  on 
the  slight  basis  he  had,  and  the  suspicions  that  had 
come  to  him  were  too  dreadful  to  be  retained  for  a 
moment.  Besides,  if  'Lije  had  met  with  any  tangible 
foul  play  while  in  the  mine,  he  would  certainly  have 
had  his  revenge.  He  felt  relieved  when  he  reached 
this  conclusion,  and  put  all  thoughts  away  from  him 
save  that  Burden's  Mine  had  a  bad  name,  and  so 
would  be  sold  at  a  great  discount.  He  must  by  some 
means  get  money  to  buy  the  property,  so  securing  it 
to  his  scheme  ;  and  he  must  find  some  person  who 
would  be  figure-head  to  hold  this  land  and  sell  it  out 
in  lots  to  the  people  from  Eureka. 

The  scheme  grew  as  he  walked,  and  took  clearer 
and  clearer  shape  in  his  mind. 

Faster  and  faster  he  tramped  ;  his  eyes  shining,  and 
a  slow  color  creeping  up  his  dark  face  ;  and  he  saw 
himself  a  rich,  successful  man. 

And  Joe  ? 

The  memory  came  over  him  like  a  cold  wave,  and 
he  tried  to  put  it  aside.  Joe  was  a  liar,  but  not  a 
murderer  of  his  friend  ;  facts  disproved  that. 

And  most  men  seemed  to  be  liars  ? 

He  took  his  hat  off  ;  his  head  was  hot  and  throb- 
bing, and  he  hated  himself  that  he  had  found  cause 
against  this  man  who  had  clothed  him  and  fed  him. 
It  was  treacherous  to  judge  him.  .Joe  had  gathered 
gold  secretly,  and  had  hoarded  it  all  these  years  ;  why 
not,  if  he  found  pleasure  in  it?  He  had  gathered  it 
from  another  man's  possessions  ! 

The  thought  came  unexpectedly,  and  put  yet  another 
face  on  the  question  :  Joe  had  stolen  his  money.  And 
yet,  could  it  be  called  stealing  if  he  had  made  a  find 
in  a  place  that  others  had  deserted  ?  had  deserted 


216  JERRY. 

from  stupid  superstition,  while  Joe  had  been  brave 
enough  to  go  in  and  work  there  ?  Could  it  be  stealing? 

Perhaps  not ;  yet,  who  was  it  that  he  had  heard 
talk  of  the  horrors  of  the  old  mine  ;  who  had  said  it 
was  death  to  go  there  ;  who  had  been  so  mortally 
terrified  at  the  nervous  vision  of  his  childhood  ? 

Had  it  been  a  nervous  vision  ? 

Even  after  all  these  years  he  did  not  like  the 
memory  of  it. 

He  put  on  his  hat ;  it  was  ridiculous  to  deal  in  such 
fancies,  and  be  swayed  by  them.  If  Joe  had  stolen 
the  chance  and  the  gold,  it  was  not  his  care — he  was 
not  the  keeper  of  Joe's  conscience. 

He  walked  steadily  on,  and  into  the  town.  He 
would  have  to  turn  Morris  away  again  to-day  ;  he 
had  not  learned  enough  to  answer  him  yet.  He  would 
have  made  overtures  to  Burk  that  morning,  but  what 
the  man  had  told  him  had  shocked  him  from  his  pur- 
pose :  he  would  go  again  to-morrow  and  make  his 
inquiries  the  more  sure  from  having  had  time  to  think 
them  over. 

The  day  seemed  endless  :  the  children  stumbled 
and  struggled  with  their  lessons  in  a  way  that  was 
exasperating ;  "they  seemed  bent  on  making  mistakes, 
on  disobeying  orders,  on  being  kept  in  and  whipped. 
The  atmosphere  was  heavy  and  clinging  ;  the  smell 
of  onions  and  dirt  was  intensified,  and  Jerry's  .nerves 
seemed  to  strain,  and  tingle,  and  long  for  freedom. 
He  must  have  something  better  than  this. 

The  day  waned,  and  the  tasks  and  punishments 
were  settled  ;  the  future  statesmen,  and  presidents, 
and  "  reigning  belles  "  had  gone  home  to  their  hovels; 
and  Jerry,  locking  up  his  desk,  heard  the  horn  ring- 
out  so  fine  and  clear.  He  listened  ;  when  he  became 
rich  and  could  claim  success,  he  would  have  a  band 
of  instruments  such  as  he  had  read  of,  and  would 
ask  the  doctor  to  come  and  hear  them  play.  He  would 
have  this  horn  multiplied  a  hundred-fold,  and  every 
note  his  own,  and  calling  to  him. 


JERRY.  217 

Always  he  had  read  of  music  with  a  longing  :  it 
would  mean  something  to  him  :  once  in  the  night  a 
traveler  had  passed  down  the  trail  thrumming  a 
guitar,  and  •  Jerry  had  heard  the  sound ;  heard  it 
coming  like  the  throbbing  of  a  heart — coming  with  a 
cry  so  vague,  so  unfinished — only  a  cry  with  so  much 
left  unsaid.  Coming  nearer  and  nearer  until  it  seemed 
to  throb  all  about  him  as  he  sat  up  in  the  darkness 
listening.  Beating,  crying,  pleading  with  him  to  fill 
out  the  unworded  measure. 

Fading  down  the  black  gorge,  the  sobbing,  broken 
cry  passed  away. 

Would  music  be  like  all  the  other  things  he  had 
found  in  life — a  fragment  ?  Would  he  be  striving 
always  after  some  unfinished  measure  ? 

Again  the  sound  of  the  horn  swept'by  him,  and  he 
listened  with  an  impatience  that  was  unbearable. 
Why  had  he  been  for  all  these  years  an  idle  dreamer, 
wasting  so  much  time  preparing  himself  for  the 
cramped,  chance  life  of  a  writer:  feeding  himself  ill 
on  dreams  and  vagaries  that  seemed  now  to  possess 
him  and  to  weaken  him  ? 

He  closed  and  locked  the  door  with  an  angry 
vehemence  that  had  no  foundation  save  dissatisfac- 
tion with  himself.  He  had  been  such  a  fool  !  Would 
he  be  able  now  to  gather  himself  together,  and  to 
stand  entirely  alone  ;  could  he  put  aside  all  associa- 
tions, all  qualms  of  conscience,  all  feeling,  and  con- 
quer success  ?  And  he  wondered  vaguely  if  many 
of  those  whom  the  world  called  successful  had  con- 
sciences. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  Then  every  evil  word  I  had  spoken  once, 
And  every  evil  thought  I  had  thought  of  old, 
And  every  evil  deed  I  ever  did, 
Awoke  and  cried." 

IT  was  very  dark,  and  the  entrance  was  dwindling 
to  a  point  of  light.  Still  Joe  seemed  to  know  the 

way  with  wonderful  accuracy,  and  walked  the 
rough  path  with  the  stealth  and  swiftness  of  a  cat. 

A  little  further  and  he  paused,  felt  along  the  wall, 
fitted  his  hands  slowly  and  carefully  into  a  crevice, 
then  swung  himself  over  some  danger  so  well  known 
to  him,  that  dropping  safely  on  his  feet  he  drew  a  short, 
sharp  breath.  He  stopped  a  moment  just  where  he 
had  dropped,  until  he  lighted  a  small  lantern  which 
he  took  from  a  ledge  in  the  rock,  then  moved  on. 
Carefully  and  slowly  he  went  now,  crawling  like  a 
great  spider,  scraping  himself  against  the  wall.  Only 
a  little  space  was  lighted  by  the  lantern,  but  the  ledge 
of  rocks  on  which  he  walked  stopped  far  within  that 
radius.  Steadily  on,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left,  but  only  on  the  next  step  he  must  take  ; 
carefully,  cautiously,  slowly,  with  his  eyes  shining  and 
his  breath  coming  heavily.  One  misstep  and  he  would 
never  be  heard  of  again  :  one  man  had  made  this  mis- 
step ;  he  was  sure  of  it,  although  no  one  else  was  ;  he 
knew  because  he  had  heard  the  legend  of  this  narrow 
way  from  Dan  Burk,  who  had  been  the  near  friend  of 
old  Burden. 

And  beyond  this  narrow  way  he  had  found  the  cave 
the  story  had  told  about;  and  where,  unknown  to  Burk 
even,  the  old  man  had  hoarded  great  treasure. 

There  was  something  strange  about  this  mine  ;  some 
devil  of  greed  and  deception  seemed  to  inhabit  it. 

218 


JERRY.  219 

He  was  safe  over  the  narrow  way  now,  and  putting 
his  lantern  down,  he  began  to  change  his  clothes  with 
rapid,  stealthy  movements.  The  whole  man  seemed 
transformed  and  alive  ;  seemed  to  have  shaken  off  the 
stolid  heaviness  he  wore  in  the  outside  world,  and  in- 
stead moved  about  with  nervous  quickness.  Having 
arrayed  himself  in  a  rough,  worn  suit  of  clothes,  he 
put  his  usual  apparel  in  a  corner,  then  paused  and 
made  a  little  wailing  cry, — a  peculiar  sound  that  in  an 
instant  seemed  to  be  repeated  by  a  hundred  voices  ; 
taken  up  again  and  again  ;  coming  back  sometimes 
loud,  sometimes  low;  seeming  to  die  away,  then  wak- 
ing suddenly  to  one  more  repetition  ;  weird,  startling, 
awful ! 

He  listened,  and  seemed  to  know  when  it  was  fin- 
ished, then  made  the  little  sound  again, — this  time  not 
waiting,  but  going  deeper  into  the  gloom,  leaving  the 
little  cries  to  wander  up  and  down  the  hopeless  dark- 
ness until  they  died, — up  and  down  until  the  merciful 
silence  hushed  them. 

Joe  lighted  two  more  lanterns  standing  in  niches  in 
the  wall,  then  looked  anxiously  around  the  low  arched 
recess  that  almost  was  a  room. 

The  walls  look  dull  and  dead,  and  here  and  there 
were  worked  into  deep  holes  ;  especially  on  the  side 
overhanging  a  stream  which  ran  the  entire  length  of 
the  room  :  a  stream  that  appeared  without  visible 
reason  in  one  corner  of  the  room — foaming  white  and 
strong  against  the  fretting  barriers,  and  disappeared 
suddenly  through  a  low  arch  in  the  corner  furthest 
from  Joe's  place  of  entrance.  Across  its  place  of  exit 
was  stretched  a  net  of  finest  wire  ;  and  deeper  in  the 
narrow  crack,  a  web  of  cloth. 

Low  Joe  stooped  and  peered  with  his  glittering  eyes 
that  seemed  to  enlarge  and  gleam  as  he  caught  sight 
of  the  shining  particles  washed  by  the  water  against 
his  catches. 

"A  good  haul,"  he  muttered,  "a  rale  good  haul," 
then  he  rose,  and  took  down  from  the  jagged  ribs  of 


220  JERRY. 

the  cave  fresh  nets  of  wire  and  cloth.  Carefully  he 
fixed  them  in  place  before  he  removed  the  standing 
catches,  waiting  patiently  for  a  few  moments  that  the 
disturbed  water  might  resume  its  usual  flow  ; — no 
smallest  grain  must  be  lost.  Carefully  he  removed 
the  nets  that  held  the  gold,  emptying  their  hoard  into 
a  flat  pan  of  water  ;  dipping  them  again  and  again  ; 
examining  them  with  'bated  breath. 

"Orl  fur  Jerry,"  he  whispered,  stirring  the  glitter- 
ing particles  with  his  hungry-looking  hands,  "an* 
a  good  lot  ;  an"  he  dunno,  damn  it  !"  tying  a  fine 
cloth  tightly  over  the  whole  pan,  "  dunno  nothin*  jest 
ceppen  hisn's  books:  talkin'  so  fine  'bout  t'other  folks, 
an'  what  he  'Hows  they  orter  hev  :  he  aint  got  good 
sense  'bout  thet,  God  bless  'im  !  an  sich  shinin' 
eyes." 

Carefully  the  string  was  untied  when  the  last  drop 
of  water  had  been  drained  from  the  pan,  and  the  cloth, 
with  the  valuable  sediment  inside,  was  gathered 
together  and  tied  like  a  bag,  then  hung  near  a  small 
iron  stove  filled  with  charcoal. 

Slowly  the  fire  lighted  and  grew  red  and  glow- 
ing— glancing  through  the  one  opening  in  the  cylin- 
der like  a  great  red  eye,  dull,  burning,  watchful  of 
the  poor  warped  soul  that  only  lived  while  in  this  den! 
who  seemed  endued  with  new  life  ;  who  vibrated 
and  glowed  as  he  watched  the  steam  that  floated 
about  the  wet  bag.  It  would  not  take  very  long  to 
get  dry,  then  he  would  get  all  the  particles  out,  even 
to  the  least  dust ;  shake  it  clear  and  clean  into  the 
little  leather  bag  that  soon  would  be  full  enough  to 
take  to  Eureka. 

If  only  Jerry  would  have  a  little  sense  ;  just  a  little, 
he  thought,  as  he  squatted  before  the  charcoal  stove, 
looking  steadily  into  the  red  eye. 

If  only  Jerry  knew  anything  besides  books  :  he  had 
learned  too  much  ;  he  had  learned  more  than  Paul, — 
his  thoughts  ran  on, — for  Paul  only  knew  how  to  get 
and  spend  money  ;  he  did  not  know  that  a  man  ought 


JERRY.  221 

to  think  about  other  men  having  money  :  Jerry  had 
learned  too  much. 

He  rubbed  his  hand  back  on  his  stubbly  gray  hair  : 
if  Jerry  only  knew  gold  ;  if  Jerry  could  only  see  what 
gold  could  get — could  only  spend  gold  ;  Jerry  would 
be  like  Paul,  he  would  take  all  he  could  get  and  never 
ask  where  it  came  from. 

Maybe  if  Jerry  could  be  sent  to  where  Paul  came 
from,  he  would  learn  to  be  like  Paul. 

The  idea  crept  into  the  anxious  mind,  and  the  deep- 
set  eyes  seemed  to  catch  fire  from  the  red  eye  of  the 
stove,  and  to  light  up  as  the  new  possibility  loomed 
before  them. 

Jerry  must  go  East. 

At  last  the  problem  was  solved  :  Jerry  must  learn 
to  spend  money  ;  he  must  learn  to  love  it,  then  Joe 
would  be  left  in  peaceful  possession  of  his  den. 

The  red  eye  of  the  stove  seemed  to  flash — the 
stream  seemed  to  lift  up  its  voice  almost  into  a  laugh  ; 
and  from  the  black  abyss  the  cries  seemed  to  wake 
and  come  back  to  the  lonely  worker.  He  listened. 

"  I  hears  it  sometimes,"  he  whispered,  "  when  I 
aint  never  made  no  soun'  !  "  and  he  looked  over  his 
shoulder  as  if  he  expected  to  see  a  vision.  "  It'd  orl 
a-been  fur  youuns,  Nan,  if  youunshed  a-lived  ;  Iswar 
afore  God  !  "  putting  his  hands  over  his  face — "  I 
swar  !  " 

The  stream  laughed  on  and  on,  washing  high  up 
against  the  nets  ;  the  eye  of  the  stove  glared  at  the 
dull  wall  ;  the  lanterns  flickered  and  flared  as  myste- 
rious draughts  of  wind  reached  up  and  touched  them 
with  invisible,  ghostly  fingers  :  and  the  cries — were 
they  echoing  still  through  the  blackness  of  that  awful 
passage  ?  Were  the  souls  wrecked  by  this  fatal  den 
waking  and  sobbing  in  the  distance  ? 

"  I  swar,  Nan  !  "  and  the  lean,  work-hardened  body 
swayed  back  and  forth  where  it  crouched — "  I  sw'ar  !  " 

Surely  the  dead  came  back — surely. 

The  man  rose  to  his  feet  hurriedly  ;  he  must  make 


222  JERRY. 

some  movement.  Close  over  the  stream  was  his 
work,  and  standing  in  the  cold  water  he  swung  his 
pick  with  even,  regular  strokes  ;  breaking  the  rocks 
into  very  small  pieces  that  dropped  into  the  stream. 
The  water  and  his  hammer  would  do  the  rest  of  the 
work  for  him. 

On  and  on  he  worked,  his  strokes  falling  fast  and 
hard, — his  breath  coming  sharp  and  thick.  On  and 
on  only  stopping  now  and  then  to  step  from  the  cold 
water  that  he  might  warm  his  feet  near  the  stove.  It 
would  be  his  death  some  day,  this  standing  in  the 
water  :  he  had  seen  many  a  miner  ruined  in  this  way  ; 
either  drawn  up  with  rheumatism  and  left  a  helpless 
cripple,  or  dying  suddenly  from  some  congestion 
caused  by  cold.  He  knew  that  in  this  place  and  in 
this  work  he  would  meet  his  death  ;  he  knew  that 
sooner  or  later  the  end  would  meet  him  here.  Maybe 
walking  that  narrow  ledge  he  would  slip  over  with  a 
last  long  cry  that  would  live  to  haunt  some  future 
worker. 

Steadily  the  strokes  fell  :  it  was  all  for  Jerry.  And 
he  must  persuade  Jerry  to  go  East ;  to  see  the  things 
that  made  money  valuable.  There  was  nothing  out 
here  in  the  wilderness  to  make  men  love  money.  But 
he  had  seen  such  things  long  ago  when  in  the  East  he 
and  Nancy  were  nearly  starved  ;  it  was  then  that  a 
man  had  persuaded  them  and  a  lot  of  other  people  to 
move  West  where  a  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Burden,  had 
found  a  mine.  They  had  had  hard  times  that  made 
him  long  for  money,  and  made  him  come  to  this  wild 
country.  But  when  they  reached  the  place  they  found 
that  old  Durden  had  disappeared  in  the  mine  some 
time  before,  and  the  place  was  closed  because  the 
people  were  afraid.  They  were  simple,  superstitious 
country  people — content  if  they  had  room  to  plant  a 
little  patch,  and  live  from  hand  to  mouth.  There  had 
been  no  regular  miners  nor  adventurers  among  them. 

His  Nan  would  have  been  content  with  a  little 
patch  ;  but  Joe  had  dreamed  golden  dreams  ;  and 


JERRY.  22$ 

besides  it  was  too  late  that  year  to  plant  a  garden. 
Then  it  was  that  in  despair  he  had  explored  the  mine, 
had  found  the  black  hole,  and  on  its  brink  a  little  nug- 
get that  some  creature  must  have  dropped  there. 

He  remembered  now  the  intense,  wondering  joy  of 
that  find  ;  and  how  he  had  taken  it  to  Dan  Burk,  the 
one  shop-keeper  of  the  whole  region,  who  was  at  that 
time  reduced  to  as  great  straits  almost  as  Joe.  It  was 
then  that  with  much  cautious  questioning  they  meas- 
ured each  other,  and  determined  to  trust  each  other. 
Joe  was  not  so  much  afraid  of  the  mine  as  he  was  of 
hunger  and  death  for  himself  and  his  Nancy  ;  and 
Burk,  who  was  afraid  of  the  mine,  knew  all  its  secrets 
or  thought  that  he  did. 

He  knew  that  the  shaft  beginning  in  a  cave  opening 
into  which  the  stream,  turned  out  of  its  course  by 
Burden,  had  once  flowed, — that  this  shaft  had  run  into 
an  awful  abyss  which  the  people  said  had  no  bottom, 
and  into  which  the  stream  must  have  fallen  originally  : 
that  on  the  other  side  of  this  abyss  there  was  a  large 
cave  about  which  the  Indians  had  left  a  story. 

When  by  accident  the  workmen  had  broken  into 
this  hole,  the  last  Indian  left  in  the  settlement  came  to 
see  it  and  told  his  story.  He  said  that  on  the  other 
side  of  this  hole  there  was  a  cave  in  which  there  was 
a  stream  that  washed  out  quantities  of  gold  ;  that  his 
tribe  hearing  of  this  treasure-house  had  conquered  the 
tribe  owning  it.  The  battle  had  been  fought  out  on 
the  plain,  and  the  conquered  tribe,  when  desperately 
pushed  by  their  enemies,  had  driven  their  wives  and 
children  through  the  cave  and  into  this  hole,  them- 
selves jumping  in  after,  doing  this  rather  than  become 
prisoners,  and  lose  their  places  as  braves.  He  went 
on  to  say  that,  after  this,  no  good  luck  had  come  to 
his  tribe  any  more,  that  the  Great  Spirit  fought 
against  them  in  every  battle,  until  in  the  days  of  his 
father  they  had  closed  and  concealed  the  entrance  to 
the  cave.  That  he  had  never  known  where  it  was. 

Long  consultations  had  been  held  between  old  Dur- 


224  JERRY. 

den  and  his  few  helpers  ;  but  the  men  refused  to 
brave  the  dangers  of  such  a  crossing  for  any  amount 
of  money.  The  huge  bonfire  built  on  the  edge  of  the 
hole  showed  a  narrow  tunnel  that  seemed  to  have 
neither  bottom,  nor  top,  nor  end  ;  the  only  vestige  of 
any  foothold  being  a  narrow  ledge  of  rock  that  could 
be  reached  only  by  swinging  across  a  section  of  the 
hole.  There  was  talk  of  a  bridge,  but  there  was  no 
skill  there  to  throw  one  across  the  hole, — and  even  while 
they  talked  strange  sounds  had  come  from  the  hole  ; 
they  were  made  to  listen  by  the  Indian  :  it  was  the 
crying,  he  said,  of  the  murdered  women  and  children. 

So  the  last  man  of  the  victorious  tribe  had  spoken  ; 
with  his  hand  resting  on  the  shoulder  of  old  Durden, 
and  something  shining  in  his  eyes  that  made  old  Dur- 
den advise  against  the  bridge. 

Later,  old  Burden  had  heard  further  from  the  In- 
dian :  a  whispered  story  of  hidden  treasure,  that  made 
him  risk  the  dreadful  passage  ;  and  Dan  Burk  said  he 
had  found  much. 

The  shaft  that  in  the  first  instance  had  diverged 
from  the  bed  of  the  stream,  but  that  in  breaking  into 
the  abyss  had  come  into  it  again,  was  once  more 
turned  aside  ;  and  the  men,  who  would  not  attempt  to 
cross  the  hole,  agreed  willingly  to  work  there. 

So  all  day  long  the  men  worked  busily,  and  in  the 
night  the  old  man  went  and  came  on  his  dangerous 
journeys  ;  for  day  and  night  were  the  same  in  that 
black  place.  For  fear  of  having  to  share  his  gains, 
Durden  revealed  his  find  to  one  man  only,  and  to 
him  only  because  he  needed  a  place  of  exchange  for 
his  nuggets  and  dust. 

Dan  Burk  had  agreed  to  keep  his  secret  for  a  cer- 
tain share  of  the  spoil,  and  had  made  money  on  the 
bargain,  until  once  the  old  man  went,  but  came  no 
more. 

Search  was  made  until  they  came  to  the  hole  that 
so  held  all  in  awe,  and  no  man  would  go  further. 
They  heard  dreadful  sounds  and  cries,  they  said,  and 


JERRY.  225 

saw  strange  shadows  looming  up  in  the  darkness,  so 
that  they  turned  back  in  terror,  and  the  mine  was 
deserted. 

The  people  had  hard  times  then  until  the  doctor 
came  and  took  command,  and  'Lije  Milton,  who  had 
bought  Burden's  on  a  speculation,  found  the  new 
mine  at  Eureka  ;  then  peace  came  again,  and  old  Dur- 
den  was  forgotten  save  as  a  ghost. 

But  during  those  dark  days  one  man  dared  all,  and 
crossing  the  dreadful  abyss  crept  along  the  narrow 
ledge.  He  found  the  hidden  treasure,  and  found  also 
that  his  predecessor  had  not  shared  fairly  ;  but  care- 
fully in  strong  boxes  were  little  bags,  clumsily  but 
safely  made,  and  full  of  dust  :  and  in  another  box  a 
shining  pile  of  golden  coin. 

The  old  man  had  not  carried  out  for  exchange  all 
that  he  found  hidden,  but  he  had  brought  back  and 
stored  afresh  all  the  money  he  had  gained.  And  all 
his  tools  were  there,  and  the  charcoal  stove,  but  no 
other  sign  of  him  ;  and  Dan  Burk's  theory  was  that 
he  had  lost  himself  in  trying  to 'find  the  old  entrance 
to  the  cave.  Joe,  who  knew  so  well  the  perils  of  the 
passage,  said  he  had  fallen  into  the  hole. 

And  Joe,  was  he  to  reveal  all  that  he  had  found  ? 
It  was  surely  his,  he  had  risked  an  awful  death  to 
win  it  ;  a  death  Dan  Burk  would  never  have  risked. 
No,  it  was  not  stealing  ;  and  when  his  friend  'Lije 
Milton  wondered  about  the  old  story,  he  did  not  tell 
his  secret  :  'Lije  had  plenty,  and  where  he  worked 
was  not  Lije's  mine,  but  an  old  Indian  cave  that 
belonged  to  no  one. 

Of  course  it  was  not  stealing  ;  and  if  Jerry  would 
only  let  him  be, — or  if  he  could  only  find  the  old  en- 
trance to  the  cave! 

He  stopped  in  his  work  and  laid  his  pick  down  : 
there  was  one  place  he  suspected  as  the  end  of  the 
old  entrance  passage,  and  once  he  had  explored 
it  for  a  little  distance  ;  not  very  far,  but  far  enough 
to  realize  that  the  dangers  of  it  were  too  manifold  for 


226  JERRY. 

him  to  dare  a  hurried  investigation  :  and  he  could  not 
be  absent  for  any  length  of  time  without  an  explanation. 

He  took  up  a  great  stone  pestle  to  crush  the  pieces 
of  rock  that  had  fallen  into  the  water. 

Jerry  must  go  East  to  learn  to  love  money,  then  Joe 
could  have  his  days  free  from  observation. 

Surely  Jerry  must  go  East:  the  thought  took  stronger 
and  stronger  hold  on  him  :  Jerry  must  learn  the  worth 
of  this  money  he  had  won  from  the  hands  of  Death. 

He  had  worked  hard  to  get  it  ;  had  spent  sparingly 
to  hide  it,  for  he  had  learned  to  love  the  shining  stuff 
for  itself.  It  seemed  to  get  into  his  eyes  as  his  Nancy 
had  said,  and  to  shine  and  shine  until  he  could  see 
nothing  else.  How  heavily  freighted  he  had  been 
sometimes,  when  crossing  that  narrow  ledge  ;  how 
carefully  while  Nancy  slept  had  he  dug  a  hole  in  the 
corner  of  the  house  ;  how  secretly  night  after  night 
had  he  put  away  his  treasure.  And  was  it  all  to  be 
cast  to  the  crowd  to  be  scrambled  for  when  Jerry  came 
into  possession  ? 

He  had  not  divided  the  found  gold-dust  with  Dan 
Burk,  nor  the  box  of  money  ;  but  only  divided  a  part 
of  what  he  got  each  day.  He  had  found  in  the  engi- 
neer of  the  Eureka  Mines  a  man  who  paid  more  fairly 
for  the  gold,  and  who  asked  no  questions,  as  he  was 
in  constant  receipt  of  private  stores  of  this  sort.  Every 
man  who  had  a  little  "  find  "  of  his  own  tried  to  hide 
it  from  his  fellow-man  ;  and  all  these  little  hoards 
went  to  enhance  the  value  of  the  Eureka  Mine.  Of 
course  it  all  came  from  this  mine  ;  and  the  shares  ran 
up  ;  and  the  engineer's  salary  was  increased  ;  and  his 
speculations  grew  ;  and  Joe's  secret  was  safe.  As  to 
Dan  Burk,  his  share  diminished  steadily,  and  Joe  grew 
more  importunate  in  his  demands  ;  for  he  could  get 
a  better  price,  he  said. 

Of  what  use  was  it  that  Dan  th-reatened  to  tell  of 
the  cave  ;  Joe's  retort  came  readily — "  Tell  'em,  an' 
show  'em  the  way." 

It  was  hopeless  ;  no  one  would  attempt  that  passage 


JERRY.  227 

when  gold  was  so  easily  found  elsewhere  :  and  Dan 
was  quite  sure  that  even  Joe  would  not  attempt  it  for 
the  small  amount  brought  to  him  as  his  share.  He 
knew  quite  well  that  Joe  was  cheating  him,  but  what 
redress  was  there  ?  So  Dan  determined  to  make  what 
he  could  by  holding  the  secret ;  but  was  very  willing 
to  sell  any  information  to  Jerry  when  he  came  to  him 
with  his  eyes  gleaming  so  dangerously,  and  his  words 
coming  so  sharp  and  quick.  He  had  not  thought  it 
safe  to  thwart  Jerry  ;  and  by  helping  him  he  might 
gain  something. 

Poor  Joe  ! 

Long  ago  he  had  removed  all  the  treasure  from  the 
cave  and  stored  it  where  a  written  paper  would  reveal 
it.  And  the  paper  was  sealed  and  in  the  doctor's 
keeping  :  he  knew  the  doctor  would  see  his  wishes 
strictly  carried  out  if  he  did  not  know  where  the 
money  came  from  ;  but  once  acknowledge  the  source 
of  his  gains,  and  he  knew  that  strict  justice  would  be 
done  :  justice  such  as  Jerry  believed  in  ;  and  the 
money  would  be  divided  out  to  every  soul  who  had 
the  remotest  claim  on  the  mine.  So  the  paper  re- 
vealed nothing  save  where  the  money  was,  how  hidden, 
and  declaring  it  all  to  be  for  Jerry.  Nor  was  the 
doctor  to  read  this  paper  unless  Jerry  willed  it  so  ; 
and  since  the  recent  misunderstanding  Joe  felt  an 
extra  degree  of  security  in  the  thought  that  Jerry 
would  not  show  the  paper  to  the  doctor. 

It  was  all  well  sto"red  now,  and  if  any  misstep  left  Joe's 
place  vacant,  the  money  he  loved  so  well,  and  the  young 
fellow  his  love  bade  fair  to  ruin,  would  both  be  safe. 

But  the  old  lost  entrance  :  if  only  he  could  find 
that,  no  law  nor  justice  could  disturb  him,  for  none 
could  prove  that  he  was  working  in  Durden's  Mine. 

The  cave  was  his  own  find  ;  Dan  Burk  had  heard 
of  it  only  as  a  tradition,  a  wild  story  that  meant  little  : 
Joe,  however,  had  worked  his  way  to  it,  and  surely 
had  a  right  to  what  he  found  there. 

Only  he  must  find  that  old  entrance. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  Hadst  thou  understood 
The  things  belonging  to  thy  peace  and  ours  ! 
Is  there  no  prophet  but  the  voice  that  calls 
Doom  upon  Kings,  or  in  the  waste,  '  Repent  '? 

O  rather  pray  for  those  and  pity  them, 

Who  through  their  own  desire  accomplished  bring 

Their  own  gray  hairs  with  soirow  to  the  grave  —  '' 


papers  came  daily  now  ;  filled  with  warnings, 
and  vituperations,  and  news  of  the  horde  that  was 
preparing  to  come  to  Burden's. 

Only  too  swiftly  were  the  shortening  days  flying  by; 
and  the  railway  seemed  to  loom  terribly  near  to 
Jerry,  while  day  by  day  his  fame  grew  until  he  found 
himself  a  hero. 

Dave  Morris  and  Dan  Burk  had  voluntarily  come 
into  his  plans,  and  had  agreed  to  advance  money  for 
the  scheme  on  any  terms  he  chose  to  name. 

Burk  accepted  the  position  as  "  Land  Agent,"  and 
bought  all  the  land  about  Durden's  Mine.  Dave 
Morris  put  so  high  a  price  on  his  whisky  that  none  but 
the  best-paid  miners,  and  the  new  civil-engineers  be- 
longing to  the  despised  "  doctor,"  could  avail  them- 
selves of  the  luxury.  And  of  the  first  new  people  who 
came,  Morris  made  good  use  :  he  persuaded  them  to 
give  great  prices  for  the  land  about  Eureka,  so  reliev- 
ing the  Eureka  people  of  their  properties,  and  allow- 
ing them  to  move  to  Durden's  with  money  to  invest. 

Jerry  watched  with  intense  interest  the  extraordi- 
nary sales  that  Morris  made  for  his  Eureka  friends  : 
listened  as  the  strangers  were  made  to  read  the 
pamphlet  put  out  by  the  engineer  of  the  Eureka 

228 


JERRY.  229 

Mine,  in  which  all  the  lands  in  and  about  Eureka  were 
represented  as  gold  lands  :  listened  afterwards  as  the 
Eureka  people  were  persuaded  to  buy  lands  in  the 
Burden's  settlement :  and  listening  wondered  that 
Morris  did  not  stand  higher  in  the  world. 

Morris's  own  Eureka  lot  went  for  the  highest  pos- 
sible price,  part  of  which  was  invested  in  Burden's 
land,  the  rest  being  generously  lent  to  forward  the 
new  scheme. 

Eureka  was  in  a  state  of  the  wildest  excitement  : 
lands  changed  hands  from  hour  to  hour  ;  were  sold  by 
telegraph  even,  the  operator  making  a  small  percent- 
age in  the  general  upheaval  ;  and  all  the  money,  fol- 
lowing Bave  Morris's,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  new 
land  agents,  Baniel  Burk  &  Co. 

Even  to  Jerry  who  stood  behind  the  scenes — who 
pulled  the  wires — even  to  him  it  seemed  like  magic. 
And  when  with  Ban  Burk  he  went  to  see  Mrs.  Milton 
about  buying  the  mine,  he  felt  as  if  some  strange 
power,  other  than  he  knew,  was  working  for  him. 

Instantly  she  acceded  to  their  request. 

"  Burden's  hes  allers  been  onlucky,"  she  said,  and 
willingly  gave  up  the  mine  and  ail  the  adjacent  lands 
for  relatively  a  small  amount. 

And  Joe,  left  outside  of  all  plans  and  arrangements, 
watched,  and  listened,  and  wondered  in  his  own  anxious 
mind  how  Jerry  had  accomplished  it.  Things  were 
taking  such  a  strangely  sudden  turn  that  he  could  not 
satisfy  himself  with  any  solution  save  that  Jerry,  and 
not  Ban  Burk,  was  the  moving  power  ;  even  though 
Jerry  kept  himself  well  in  the  background.  No  one 
but  Jerry  would  have  had  the  sense  to  direct  such  a 
move  as  this,  and  carry  it  out  so  successfully. 

Land  in  Burden's  could  have  demanded  almost  any 
price ;  yet  stranger  than  anything  that  had  eVer 
happened  in  his  experience,  Joe  saw  that  the  price 
was  never  increased  ;  and  this  convinced  him  that 
Jerry  was  manager. 

Rapidly  the   people  from    Eure-ka  began  to  erect 


230  JERRY. 

their  small  houses  in  all  directions  :  their  small  houses 
that  they  were  allowed  to  move  from  Eureka  to  Dur- 
den's.  The  lots  were  not  laid  out  with  the  beautiful 
regularity  of  the  great  tract  of  land  about  Eureka,  but 
they  were  sold  or  rented  much  more  rapidly.  Dur- 
den's  was  surely  favored  in  its  situation  ;  high  up 
from  the  plain,  and  with  plenty  of  water,  it  was 
cooler  and  more  healthy  than  Eureka ;  and  Jerry 
wondered  that  the  doctor  had  not  chosen  it  instead  of 
Eureka  as  his  center  of  operations.  And  every  day 
as  Jerry  went  to  his  school,  he  was  stopped  and  con- 
sulted as  to  the  future  of  Burden's,  and  the  advisa- 
bility of  buying  land  there.  Was  gold  to  be  found 
there — was  there  money  to  be  made  by  holding  the 
land — was  it  better  and  safer  than  holding  land  in 
Eureka? 

And  to  all  these  questions  he  answered  yes  ;  and 
revealed  his  position  further  by  saying  that  this  was 
the  chance  he  had  promised  to  find  and  secure  for  the 
people  ;  and  he  wanted  them  to  understand  that  it 
had  his  fullest  sanction.  To  prove  this,  they  could 
see  that  no  matter  what  the  demand  for  land  might 
be,  the  price  of  the  land  was  never  raised.  He  came 
forward  now  when  this  last  fact  had  been  sufficiently 
observed  and  proved,  so  that  he  could  act  without 
being  suspected  as  a  speculator,  and  took  hold  of  the 
scheme  with  a  strong  guiding  hand  ;  and  the  people 
flocked  to  him. 

Three  new  "finds"  had  been  made  in  Burden's 
gorge,  and  the  regular  miners,  thrown  out  of  work  in 
Eureka,  were  leading  the  way  in  opening  them  up 
most  successfully. 

Jerry's  heart  burned  within  him  :  money  and  people 
came  in  rapidly  :  Burk  and  Morris  carried  out  his 
every  wish,  and  rendered  a  strict  account  of  every  trans- 
action. A  committee  had  been  appointed" and  called 
the  "  Town  Committee,"  and  of  this  Jerry  had  been 
elected  chairman.  The  first  resolution  passed  was 
one  prohibiting  the  sale  of  liquor  in  the  settlement  :  a 


JERRY.  231 

strange  law,  the  old  inhabitants  thought ;  and  looked 
on  Jerry  as  a  sort  of  supernatural  creature.  After 
this  a  corps  of  workmen  had  been  detailed  to  cut 
-wood  for  the  Community,  and  to  bring  it  down  from 
the  mountain-side  :  this  the"  Town  Committee  "shared 
out  according  to  the  number  in  each  family.  The 
"  Town  Committee  "  had  in  their  hands  also  the  open- 
ing of  the  mine,  in  which  every  Commune  man  was  to 
buy  shares,  and  be  paid  regular  dividends  as  soon  as 
they  could  be  declared.  Any  gold  found  on  private 
lands  was  the  property  of  the  land-holder  ;  every  man 
who  held  shares  in  the  public  mine  had  to  do  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  work  there,  or  put  a  man  in  his  place  ; 
for  private  finds  must  not  be  worked  to  the  detriment 
of  the  public  good. 

Eureka  stood  still  and  breathless  :  would  this  mar- 
velous enterprise  prove  entirely  disastrous  to  them  ? 
It  was  a  question  that  grew  more  grave  as  day  by  day 
there  were  fresh  defections  from  the  Eureka  colony  : 
day  after  day  men  came  and  cast  in  their  lots  with  the 
Burden's  Commune  ;  for  so  Jerry  had  named  it  ;  and 
the  Eastern  papers,  taking  it  up,  rang  with  it,  and 
Jerry  became  more  and  more  notorious. 

But,  amid  all  the  toil  and  tumult,  one  came  and 
went  silent  and  unnoticed.  Going  out  from  his  house 
before  day  ;  before  the  brisk  new  town  that  fast  was 
climbing  up  to  the  mine's  mouth  was  astir  ;  and 
coming  down  in  the  darkness  when  all  were  at  their 
evening  meal. 

Like  a  bent  shadow  he  came  and  went  ;  every  day 
stooping  a  little  more  ;  every  day  the  frost  gathering 
a  little  more  thickly  on  his  stiff  hair.  He  was  un- 
heeded in  the  general  rush  :  left  outside  of  all  plans  : 
left  outside  of  all  that  filled  Jerry's  life.  He  knew 
that  Jerry  was  the  leader  ;  he  knew  that  Jerry  had 
stopped  teaching  the  school  that  now  had  been  moved 
from  Eureka  to  Burden's  ;  he  knew  that  Burden's 
Mine  had  changed  hands  ;  he  knew  that  Jerry  had 
lost  all  confidence  in  him  ;  he  knew  that  the  man, 


232  JERRY. 

Dan  Burk,  whom  he  had  saved  from  starvation,  he 
knew  he  had  betrayed  him  :  and  deeper  down  in  his 
old  heart  he  knew  that  not  for  much  longer  could  he 
walk  in  his  old  paths,  and  reap  his  golden  harvest. 

The  old  mine  was  like  a  home  to  him — like  mother 
— wife — children  :  all  the  ties  of  life  were  for  him 
concentrated  in  that  black  hole,  and  in  the  glittering 
particles  he  found  there.  How  could  he  live  his  life 
day  after  day,  and  all  the  object  gone  out  of  it  :  hour 
after  hour  sit  and  smoke  idly  by  the  fire  ;  hearing  in 
imagination  only  the  laugh  of  the  stream,  that  in  these 
years  had  come  to  seem  the  voice  of  a  friend  ;  and 
seeing  in  memory  only  the  great  red  eye  of  the  stove  ? 

For  many  years  he  had  lived  there,  working  alone 
in  the  darkness  ;  with  at  first  the  need  of  the  money 
for  spur — afterward  for  love  of  the  money, — later  for 
the  love  of  the  wistful  eyes  of  the  boy  who  looked  to 
him  for  everything. 

The  little,  thin  voice  and  patient,  humble  face,  so 
sorrowful,  so  lonely. 

Somehow  the  boy  had  taken  a  deep  hold  on  him, 
and  all  the  gold  he  gathered  was  to  provide  for  this 
little  creature.  It  had  made  him  work  all  the  harder  : 
he  had  been  happy  in  paying  for  his  education  and 
clothes  :  in  each  winter  providing  for  all  his  wants  ; 
in  making  the  house  and  the  living  gradually  better 
for  him,  and  in  each  day  adding  to  the  store  of  gold. 
He  had  been  proud  of  Jerry's  absorption  in  books 
and  dreams  ;  proud  of  the  gradual  change  that  left 
such  a  distance  between  him  and  Jerry,  and  lifted  the 
boy  to  the  level  of  Paul  and  the  doctor.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him  but  that  Jerry  loved  him,  although 
toward  the  last  Jerry's  devotion  to  the  doctor  had 
hurt  him  a  little.  But  now  ? 

Now  his  boy  had  turned  from  him  entirely — had 
joined  with  a  stranger  in  betraying  him — was  living 
his  life  apart,  without  any  reference  to  him. 

It  had  been  for  Jerry's  good  that  he  had  deceived 
him  about  the  mine  ;  yet  from  that  night  Jerry  had 


JERRY.  233 

never  uttered  one  word  in  his  hearing  of  the  hopes 
and  wishes  he  entertained  for  his  scheme. 

The  more  Joe  thought  and  suffered,  the  more  surely 
he  came  to  one  conclusion.  Only  one  thing  was  left 
to  be  done  ;  only  one  plan  that  could  save  him  and 
teach  Jerry  wisdom  :  it  was  to  send  Jerry  East  that  he 
might  learn  to  love  money,  and  while  he  was  absent, 
find  the  old  entrance  to  the  cave.  This  done,  he  would 
be  safe  in  his  possession — safe  to  gather  and  hoard  the 
gold  that  Jerry  would  one  day  appreciate,  and  appre- 
ciating would  come  back  to  his  old  relations  with  his 
truest  friend. 

But  how  could  he  accomplish  this  end  ?  He  had 
not  been  near  Dan  Burk  for  a  moment's  speech  even, 
since  the  mine  changed  hands  ;  a  tacit  understanding 
made  them  avoid  each  other  ;  and  now  all  Joe's  gold- 
dust  went  to  Engineer  Mills  of  the  Eureka  Mine. 

He  must  approach  Burk  once  more,  however,  to 
get  his  assistance  in  sending  Jerry  away  :  and  he  felt 
quite  sure  he  could  find  means  to  make  Burk  per- 
suade Jerry  to  go. 

He  had  stopped  work  while  he  brought  to  a  con- 
clusion these  thoughts  of  many  weeks ;  and  now 
storing  in  his  pocket  the  last  little  bag  of  gold  that 
he  had  gathered,  he  set  his  nets  to  last  for  two  days, 
for  to-morrow  he  must  go  into  Eureka  to  sell  the 
dust.  He  did  not  know  what  might  happen  any  day, 
so  he  busied  himself  making  all  safe  behind  him  ; 
there  was  nothing  there  to  tell  any  tales  except  the 
nets  and  the  little  black  stove,  things  of  little  value  ; 
friends  who  could  not  betray  him. 

It  was  late  now,  very  late  ;  Jerry  would  be  at  home 
by  this,  and  the  supper  ready,  but  for  all  that  he  must 
see  Dan  Burk. 

Carefully  he  chose  his  way  through  the  new  settle- 
ment that  had  climbed  the  mountain-side,  down  into 
the  old  village  which  was  nearer  the  level  of  the 
plain  :  carefully,  for  people  might  ask  questions  if 
they  saw  him  in  the  town  at  night. 


234  JERRY. 

Dan  Burk  was  at  home,  sitting  in  his  shop,  that 
looked  much  improved  :  it  was  clean,  and  without  the 
smell  of  bacon  and  whisky  that  had  never  been  absent 
before.  The  Community  had  provision  depots  now, 
and  Dan's  place  served  only  as  a  shop  for  clothes  and 
tools.  Besides,  his  business  as  land  agent  kept  him 
busy,  and  in  the  future  would  pay  him  better  than 
selling  whisky. 

More  than  this,  Dan's  shirt  was  clean.,  and  his  black 
hair  brushed  to  a  painful  state  of  sleekness.  He 
turned  when  the  door  opened,  and  recognizing  his 
visitor,  he  rose. 

For  a  moment  he  paused,  then  pushed  his  chair 
back  and  came  forward  with  a  suspicious  profusion  of 
welcome. 

"  H'  are  you,  ole  pard,  h'are  you?"  he  said, 
"  durned  if  I  aint  real  glad  to  see  you,"  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"  I'm  well  as  common,"  Joe  answered,  and  stood 
still  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

There  was  a  pause  while  Dan  rubbed  his  overlooked 
hand  down  his  sleek  hair,  with  a  doubtful  look  creep- 
ing into  his  light  eyes. 

"  Take  a  cheer,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  No,  I'm  'bleeged,"  and  Joe  took  one  hand  from 
his  pockets  to  push  his  hat  back,  "  I  aint  got  much  to 
blate  'bout." 

"  All  right,"  and  Dan  cleared  his  throat  that  had 
become  strangely  dry. 

"  You  knows  orl  of  Jerry's  doin's,"  Joe  began, 
with  both  hands  again  in  his  pockets,  and  his  keen, 
deep-set  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  Dan's  half-averted 
face,  "  an'  I  don't  ;  an'  you  knows  somer  my 
doin's,  an'  agin  you  don't,"  pausing  solemnly  after 
this  last  thrust  that  made  Dan  look  round,  "no,"  more 
slowly,  "  you  dunno  orl,  damned  if  yer  do  !  "  with  an 
angry  light  gleaming  in  his  eyes  that  made  Dan  wince 
a  little. 

"  But  I  aint    come    jest    to  jaw,  tier  to   tell  you 


JERR  y.  235 

nothin'  'bout  me,"  more  mildly,  "  but  sumpen  'bout 
Jerry." 

"  About  Mr.  Wilkerson  ?  "  and  Dan  was  all  atten- 
tion. 

"  Thet's  what  I  said,"  Joe  answered,  "  'bout  youuns' 
Mr.  Wilkerson  an'  'bout  my  Jerry  :  an'  it's  jest  thet 
he  aint  got  no  sense  ceppen  'bout  books.  Great-day- 
in-the-mornin' !  why,  man,  Jerry  dunno  nothin'  mo' 
'bout  money  an'  a  baby,  he  don't,"  and  Joe  shook  his 
head  solemnly. 

"  He  knows  how  to  git  it,  all  the  same,"  and  Dan 
laughed  in  a  relieved  way. 

"  Orl  the  same  he  aint  agoin'  to  keep  it,"  Joe  said, 
"  ner  he  aint  agoin'  to  let  you  keep  it,  an'  don't  yer 
furgit  it  !  An"  he's  jest  agoin'  to  shar  an'  shar  alike 
orl  roun'  this  town  ;  jest  you  watch,"  waxing  more 
earnest ;  "I  knows  thar  aint  nobody  agoin'  to  make 
no  forchins  'roun'  this  town  tell  Jerry  larns  to  love 
money  :  durned  if  they  will  !  " 

"  Learns  to  love  money  ? "  Dan  repeated  slowly, 
"  Lor,  Joe,  you're  plum  crazy  !  " 

"  Orl  right,"  and  Joe  shook  his  head  slowly,  "orl 
right,  an'  when  you  keeps  on  a-seein'  Jerry  jest 
a-spreadin'  orl  the  money  roun'  even ;  an'  keeps 
on  axin  you  fur  'counts  ;  an'  a-buildin'  a  meetin'- 
house,  an'  a  schoolhouse,  and  a-stoppin'  folks  from 
cussin'  an'  whisky, — you'll  'member  me,  an'  mebbe 
you'll  say,  '  Ole  Joe  warnt  crazy  nuther.'  Mebbe 
you'll  'member,  an'  mebbe  you'll  cuss  'cause  you 
'members." 

"'Members  what,  Joe  Gilliam  ?  "  and  Burk  uttered 
some  oaths  even  now  before  the  prophesied  time. 

"  'Members  as  Joe  Gilliam  said  to  sen'  Jerry  to  the 
East  whar  he'd  larn  to  love  money  ;  'cause  when  a  man 
don't  love  money  hissef,  he's  jest  sartain  to  'spise  them 
as  dp,"  pausing  as  if  to  give  his  words  more  weight, 
"  an'  thet's  the  reasin  as  Jerry  'spises  the  doctor 
'cause  he  spekylates  in  Ian'  to  make  money ;  an' 
thet's  the  reasin  as  Jerry  'spises  me,  'cause  I  tole  him 


236  JERRY. 

I  bet  on  money,  I  did.  An'  if  a  man  'spises  money 
he  aint  agoin'  to  save  none,  ner  to  let  nobody  save 
none  ;  an'  don't  you  furgit  it." 

Burk  stood  without  motion,  and  looked  at  his  com- 
panion, while  a  great  wonder  grew  slowly  in  his  eyes  : 
was  the  old  man  losing  his  mind  ? 

Joe  went  on  slowly. 

"  Jerry  aint  never  seen  nothin'  as  money  kin  buy," 
he  said,  "  an'  he  don't  keer  nothinr  'bout  it  ;  he  kin 
git  vittles,  an'  cloze,  an'  books,  an'  thet's  orl  he  wants, 
an'  he  dunno  nothin'  mo'." 

"  Darnation  !  "  and  a  new  light  seemed  to  be  coming 
to  Dan. 

"I  knows  it's  true,"  Joe  went  on,  "an*  Jerry  aint 
agoin'  to  let  nobody  hev  no  moren  thet,  he  aint ;  an' 
he's  agoin'  to  make  orl  go  to  school,  an'  go  to  meetin', 
'cause  Jerry  don't  know  nothin'  ceppen  books." 

Burk  stood  silent:  this  model  community,  with  no 
possibility  of  private  gains,  was  not  his  ideal  town  ; 
so  far  he  had  rendered  a  strict  account  of  all  money 
in  his  hands  ;  but  he  had  not  made  his  calculations 
on  this  senseless  honesty  lasting  forever,  but  only 
until  the  enterprise  was  fairly  started.  He  had  voted 
for  schoolhouse  and  church,  thinking  they  would 
look  well  in  the  circular  which  the  Town  Committee 
had  put  out,  and  would  make  the  place  more  attract- 
ive to  outsiders. 

"  An'  he'll  tuck  in  orl  the  trash  as'll  come  alonger 
the  railroad,"  Joe  went  on,  "  'cause  when  orl  the  Ian' 
'roun'  Eureky  were  sold,  Jerry  were  jest  a-rippin*  'bout 
folks  not  a-gittin*  a  shar'  of  Ian'.  Youuns  hearn  him 
a-talkin'  'bout  God  a-makin'  the  Ian'  fur  orl,  jest  like 
the  sun  and  the  wind  wuz  "  ;  then  reflectively,  "  Mebbe 
it's  so,  then  agin'  mebbe  it  aint,  'cause  if  God  'llowed 
fur  orl  to  hev  the  Ian'  I  reckon  it  'ud  a-been  fixed  up 
thet  away  like  the  sun  an'  the  wind  wuz  ;  thet's  what 
I  "Hows." 

"  An'  it's  true  as  mornin',"  Dan  granted. 

"  An'  I  dunno  as  orl  God  made  were  made  fur  ever' 


JERRY.  237 

pusson,"  Joe  went  on  instructively,  "  'cause  I  knows 
as  God  made  me,  an'  I'm  durned  if  I'm  fur  ever'  pus- 
son  ;  durned  if  I  are  !  " 

"  That's  so,"  and  Dan  looked  still  more  grave. 

This  "  all  things  in  common  "  arrangement  was  a 
mystery  to  him  ;  his  ideas  of  justice  and  equality  were 
circumscribed  ;  it  was  not  just  that  any  one  should 
have  more  of  this  world's  goods  than  Dan  Burk,  he 
thought,  but  if  Dan  Burk  gained  more  than  his  breth- 
ren, it  was  because  Dan  Burk  was  a  sharp  fellow. 
As  he  had  realized  Jerry's  enterprise,  it  looked  like  a 
fair  opening  for  a  few  to  make  fortunes  ;  but  now 
Joe  had  put  a  new  face  on  it  ;  and  Dan  paused  and 
thought  very  deeply.  He  realized  the  truth  of  all 
that  the  old  man  had  said  ;  and  looking  back  he  could 
see  plainly  very  convincing  proofs  that  Joe's  warning 
would  benefit  all  who  heeded  it. 

For  how  could  they  know  of  the  wild  desire  for 
wealth  and  success  that  now  possessed  Jerry  ;  how 
could  they  know  of  the  deep  plans  he  was  laying  for 
the  future — thinking  night  and  day  of  ways  and  means 
to  persuade  some  capitalist  to  interest  himself  in  the 
mine, — growing  thin  and  careworn  with  the  strain  and 
longing  that  was  on  him.  How  could  they  know  of 
the  consuming  bitterness  that  held  him — that  almost 
would  have  caused  him  to  sell  himself  if  that  would 
secure  the  success  of  his  plans. 

To  Dan  Burk,  he  was  the  cool,  calm,  far-seeing 
man,  directing  with  consummate  skill  the  workings  of 
the  little  community  ;  a  controlled,  fearless  man  who 
commanded  the  confidence  of  the  people. 

To  Joe,  he  was  still  the  wild  dreamer  who  could 
realize  nothing  but  the  injustice  of  existing  laws,  and 
the  needs  of  his  fellows  ;  who  had  no  want  nor  care 
for  money  ;  who  despised  all  practical  things. 

"  I'll  gie  him  the  money  to  go,  an'  to  spen',"  Joe 
went  on,  breaking  the  silence  that  had  fallen,  "you'll 
wanter  feller  what  onderstan's ;  a  rale  engynar  to 
open  Durden's  agin,"  slowly. 


238  JERRY. 

"  That's  so,  and  Dan  looked  interested. 

"  Sen'  Jerry  to  git  him,"  Joe  pursued,  "  jest  you 
come  to  my  house  to-morrer  night,  an'  tell  Jerry  'bout 
goin',  an'  I'll  fix  the  ress ;  jest  you  come,"  then 
Joe  turned  away,  but  paused  as  he  turned,  "  an'  if 
you  tells  Jerry  thet  I've  a-been  har,"  he  said  slowly 
over  his  shoulder,  "you'll  never  git  in  Burden's 
Mine,  'cause  I  knows  the  way  of  keepin'  folks  out," 
mysteriously,  "but  if  you'll  do  my  say,  I'll  pint  the 
way  myseff :  farwell,"  and  he  walked  slowly  out,  shut- 
ting the  door  after  him,  and  leaving  Dan  Burk  pon- 
dering deeply. 

This  was  the  best  opportunity  in  the  world  ;  and 
the  pay  Joe  required  for  leading  the  way  into  this 
mysterious  mine  was  that  Jerry  should  be  persuaded 
to  go  at  his  expense  to  get  an  engineer — the  engineer 
who  was  now  the  greatest  need  of  the  community. 

It  was  strange  pay,  that  this  young  man  must  be 
made  to  love  money.  What  motive  lay  hidden  under 
all  this  ?  In  Burk's  estimation  old  Joe  did  not  have 
much  sense  ;  and  think,  as  he  would,  Dan  could  not 
solve  the  problem. 

But  of  course  he  would  accept  the  offer  ;  that  part 
was  plain  enough.  He  would  go  the  following  night 
to  Joe's,  and  make  the  proposition  ;  then  Joe  must 
manage  the  rest. 

And  old  Joe,  toiling  up  the  steep  path,  felt  his  point 
was  gained  ;  rejoiced  that  he  had  been  able  to  spread 
the  toils  for  the  feet  of  him  he  loved  the  best  ;  had 
been  able  to  set  forth  the  temptation  so  that  the 
young  heart  might  most  surely  be  led  astray  and  be 
absorbed  by  the  meanest  of  passions  ! 

Poor  old  man  ;  doing  in  his  loving  ignorance  the 
greatest  ill  to  the  one  creature  he  loved — the  creature 
for  whom  he  would  have  given  his  life  ! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  O  we  live,  O  we  live — 
And  this  life  we  would  survive, 
Is  a  gloomy  thing  and  brief, 
Which,  consummated  in  grief, 
Leaveth  ashes  for  all  gain. 
Is  it  not  all  in  vain  ? 

HOW  strangely  the  way  had  been  opened  ! 
Jerry  could  not  account  for  it ;  could  not  under- 
stand Joe's  action  in  the  matter.     Since  the  begin- 
ning of  his  enterprise  he  had  been  wearying  himself 
over  the  problem   of   how  to  get  an  engineer  and 
assayer,  and  have  the  mine  opened  before  the  railway 
and  the  general  rush  of  immigrants  should  come. 

The  new  "  finds  "  which  had  been  made  had  been 
sufficient  to  give  work  to  those  who  had  come  already  ; 
who  had  toiled  down  the  long  stretch  of  plain  that  lay 
betwen  the  rival  towns,  and  the  place  where  the  rail- 
way was  crossing  the  mountains  ;  they  had  drifted 
slowly  down  with  the  circulars  of  the  Burden's  Com- 
mune in  their  hands,  and  had  passed  Eureka  by  ! 

Burden's  had  smiled  over  this  ;  and  Jerry  had  got- 
ten a  post-office  list  and  mailed  his  circulars  to  every 
postmaster  in  the  East  ;  and  looking  back  he  had 
laughed  at  the  demoralization  caused  by  the  first 
notice  he  had  had  of  emigrants  coming  to  him.  Now 
he  saw  the  advantage  to  be  reaped  from  his  notoriety, 
and  put  aside  his  fears.  Only  he  must  be  prepared  : 
the  mine  must  be  opened  ;  the  railway  must  be 
extended  to  Burden's,  and  timber  and  tools  must  be 
ready  for  the  building  of  houses.  And  how  was  all 
this  to  be  accomplished  ? 

He  had  grown   thin  and  worn  thinking  it  over  by 

239 


240  JRRR  Y. 

day  and  by  night,  and  seeing  no  solution.  Suddenly, 
the  way  had  opened  before  him  plain  and  straight, 
with  not  one  difficulty  to  perplex  him. 

It  was  yet  three  months  to  the  day  on  which  the 
railway  had  promised  to  reach  Eureka  ;  and  though 
railway  promises  were  seldom  kept,  yet  even  four 
months,  if  they  took  so  long,  was  a  short  time.  Still, 
going  immediately,  he  might  accomplish  all  his  work 
and  get  back  in  time  to  meet  the  incoming  tide  of 
people.  Another  thing  that  he  had  worked  for  and 
had  gained  was  the  defection  of  one  of  the  doctor's 
imported  land-surveyors ;  a  young  fellow  named 
Greg,  whom  Jerry  had  discovered  to  be  the  son  of 
one  of  the  Eureka  syndicate.  After  identifying  Greg, 
Jerry,  worked  hard  for  him,  and  at  last  won  him  from 
Eureka  to  Durden's  by  the  fair  method  of  showing 
him  the  new  "  finds,"  and  by  allowing  him  to  look  over 
the  Durden's  land  that  lay  up  the  long,  dark  gorge. 

So  Greg  had  come  over ;  had  bought  a  lot,  and  had 
built  a  little  house  for  himself  ;  telling  the  doctor  that 
as  he  had  come  to  seek  his  fortune,  he  must  go  where 
he  saw  the  best  opportunity  of  making  it. 

This  was  a  serious  blow  to  Eureka,  and  more  of  the 
inhabitants  sold  their  little  lots,  and  brought  their 
houses  over  to  Durden's. 

And  now  Greg  was  the  very  man  Jerry  needed  ; 
he  could  vouch  for  the  promise  of  Durden's,  and  for 
Jerry's  honesty  of  purpose  and  success.  Greg  was 
the  very  man  ! 

Already  he  had  written  a  letter  to  a  leading  paper 
in  the  East,  telling  them  the  truth  about  Jerry  and 
Durden's.  Telling  how  that  Jerry  had  been  driven 
into  the  position  he  had  taken  ;  telling  of  his  honest 
aversion  to  the  land  speculation  ;  telling  of  the  wonder- 
ful success  of  the  little  colony  he  had  undertaken  to 
care  for  and  protect, — the  little  colony  that  had  left 
Eureka  because  it  had  felt  itself  wronged. 

Greg  was  young  himself,  scarcely  so  old  as  Jerry  ; 
and  all  his  youthful  enthusiasm  had  gone  out  to  Jerry 


JERRY.  241 

when  he  heard  from  Jerry's  lips  the  story  of  Jerry's 
venture.  It  was  after  he  had  agreed  to  buy  land  in 
Burden's  that  this  history  was  told  him,  for  Jerry 
would  not,  however  much  he  needed  Greg,  win  him 
on  any  but  practical  grounds. 

But  now  Greg  was  heart  and  soul  a  "  Durdenite," 
and  wrote  his  letter  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  new 
adherent. 

Jerry  was  a  hero  ;  Jerry  was  a  genius  ;  Jerry  was 
quixotically  honest  and  strong.  And  the  greedy- 
pocketed  old  men  of  the  Eureka  syndicate  looked  in 
each  other's  eyes  with  solemn  doubt  as  they  read  the 
ardent  letter.  Could  it  be  that  they  had  made  a  mis- 
take— and  been  deceived  ? 

And  a  communication  of  serious  import  began  its 
journey  out  to  the  doctor. 

And  now  when  the  way  seemed  so  clear  for  Jerry 
to  go  East,  Greg  rose  to  still  greater  importance.  He 
could  give  Jerry  letters  to  his  father,  who  was  presi- 
dent of  the  railway,  and  so  could  secure  him  a  hear- 
ing in  the  Board  ;  also  he  could  introduce  him  and 
his  enterprise  to  numbers  of  fabulously  rich  men. 

Burden's  was  enthusiastic,  and  Greg  was  elected 
to  the  town  committee  immediately,  and  was  appointed 
also  one  of  three  commissioners  who  were  to  regulate 
things  during  Jerry's  absence.  Ban  Burk,  Bave 
Morris,  and  Greg  were  the  three  ;  and  Jerry  felt  sin- 
cerely thankful  that  Greg  was  there,  for  could  he  have 
trusted  either  of  the  others?  But  to  Jerry,  Joe's 
action  was  a  mystery  still,  for  immediately  on  Burk's 
making  the  suggestion  that  Jerry  should  go  East,  Joe 
had  volunteered  the  money. 

"What  little  I'se  got  is  agoin'  to  be  yourn,  Jerry," 
he  said,  "  an'  youuns  mise  well  tuck  it  now  if  you 
wants  it." 

The  old  man  was  smoking  in  his  regular  place  near 
the  fire,  and  did  not  turn  his  face  toward  the  two  who 
were  talking  near  the  table. 

Ban  came  to  the  fire  quickly. 


242  JERRY. 

"  What's  that,  pard  ?  "  he  asked. 

"I  says  as  I'se  got  the  money  fur  Jerry  to  go,"  Joe 
answered  slowly,  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and 
looking  up  into  Dan's  face,  "  I  aint  got  much,"  he 
went  on,  looking  into  Dan's  eyes  steadily  as  if  defying 
some  accusation  he  saw  there,  "  but  it's  all  to  be  Jer- 
ry's when  I'se  gone,  an'  he  kin  hev  it  now  if  he  hes  a 
mind  to  it ;  thet's  what  I  says?  " 

Jerry  sat  quite  still,  suffering  more  acutely  than 
ever  before  in  his  life.  His  conduct  seemed  to  blacken 
to  the  darkness  of  sin  as  he  listened  to  Joe's  words. 
He  had  thought  himself  so  true,  and  Joe  so  false  ; 
himself  so  magnanimous,  and  Joe  so  avaricious  as  to 
hold  back  a  whole  community  for  his  own  gain  when 
he  refused  to  give  the  name  of  the  owner  of  the  mine. 

And  now  ;  now  after  he  had  cut  the'  old  man  off 
from  all  interest  or  knowledge  of  his  plans  and  hopes  ; 
— after  this  he  had  come  forward  and  had  given  all 
his  hardly  won  savings  that  the  venture  might  not  fail 
and  that  Jerry's  fortunes  might  be  secured. 

What  could  Jerry  say  ? 

He  sat  still  with  one  hand  shading  his  eyes  from 
the  light  :  and  Dan  Burk,  standing  silent  by  the  fire, 
looked  anxiously  from  one  to  the  other.  There  was 
a  long  silence  while  Jerry  repented  and  Joe  smoked  ; 
then  Jerry  rose  and  stood  behind  Joe's  chair. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,  Joe,"  he  said,  and  the  two 
practical  minds,  listening,  wondered  why  his  voice 
trembled  so,  "and  if  ever  the  Community  succeeds," 
he  went  on,  "  they  will  have  you  to  thank." 

"  Orl  right,"  and  Joe  moved  his  pipe  to  the  other 
side  of  his  mouth. 

Even  Dan  was  embarrassed  in  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed Joe's  words,  and  shuffled  his  feet  uneasily  for  a 
moment,  until  Jerry  suggested  that  he  should  call  a 
meeting  of  the  town  committee  for  the  next  morning 
in  order  that  these  plans  should  be  laid  before  them. 

"  An'  say  thet  he  pays  hisn's  own  way,"  Joe  put  in, 
— "  an'  don't  name  Joe  Gilliam's  title  ;  'cause  Dur- 


JERRY.  243 

den's  aint  nothin'  to  me,  an'  I  aint  nothin'  to  Dur- 
den's." 

"  All  right,  pard,"  Dan  answered,  "  an'  the  day 
after  thet,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  you  kin  start,"  then  more 
slowly,  "  an'  you  kin  have  my  nag  to  ride  to  the  pass  "  ; 
then  Dan  said  good-night  and  went  away,  and  Joe 
and  Jerry  were  left  alone  together. 

It  was  a  painful  moment  to  the  young  man  ;  he 
could  not  change  the  fact  that  Joe  had  told  a  lie  about 
the  ownership  of  the  mine  ;  he  could  not  blame  him- 
self for  not  ignoring  or  not  condoning  the  falsehood, 
and  without  implying  some  such  action  what  could 
he  say  ? 

"  An'  if  you'll  stay  thar  awhile,  an'  spen'  orl  the 
money  I'll  gie  you,"  Joe  said,  breaking  the  silence 
so  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  that  Jerry  started, 
"  an'  spen'  it  on  seein'  orl  thar  is  to  be  sawn;  an'  on 
gittin'  orl  the  books  an'  good  cloze  like  Paul1;  if  you'll 
do  as  I  say  'bout  this,  I'll  show  youuns'  engynar  orl 
thar  is  in  Durden's  Mine;  an'  I'll  do  it  sure." 

Jerry  listened  with  a  growing  wonder  in  his  mind  ; 
what  could  be  Joe's  motive  ?  But  he  promised,  and 
at  the  meeting  next  day  made  a  speech  in  which  he 
announced  his  plans  with  such  clearness  and  preci- 
sion, and  showed  such  a  firm  conviction  of  their  suc- 
cess, that  Mr.  Titcomb,  the  editor  of  the  Eureka  Star, 
who  had  been  invited  to  attend  the  meeting,  rose  and 
declared  his  intention  of  moving  his  whole  business  to 
Durden's  if  the  committee  would  permit  ;  and  of 
changing  the  name  of  his  paper  from  the  Eureka  Star 
to  the  Durden's  Banner  !  And  the  permission  being 
given  instantly,  the  meeting  broke  up  with  cheers  and 
a  general  congratulating  of  all  parties. 

The  news  was  all  through  both  towns  before  the 
sun  set ;  the  news  that  Mr.  AVilkerson  was  going  east 
with  letters  to  Mr.  Greg's  father  ;  that  he  was  to  ask 
for  an  extension  of  the  railway  to  Durden's,  and  to 
bring  back  an  engineer  to  reopen  Durden's  Mine. 
Further,  that  the  Star,  the  pride  and  glory  of  Eureka, 


244  JERR  Y. 

was  going  to  desert  them  for  Burden's,  and  be  called 
the  Durdens  Banner  ! 

Even  the  doctor  looked  grave  when  this  news 
reached  him,  but  he  said  no  word.  Large  sums  had 
been  spent  in  buying  the  land  about  Eureka,  and  in 
laying  it  out ;  large  sums  had  been  spent  in  extending 
the  Eureka  mine, — in  improving  the  machinery,  and 
in  raising  the  wages  of  miners  ;  and  larger  sums  still, 
in  bringing  lumber  from  long  distances  that  the  emi- 
grants might  have  it  for  building. 

And  now  must  all  this  fail — could  it  fail  ?  Was  it 
possible  that  he  was  to  be  thwarted  by  Jerry's  venture, 
that  at  first  had  seemed  so  small  and  so  wild  as  to  be 
ridiculous  ? 

At  first  he  had  watched  with  some  amusement  what 
he  thought  to  be  the  vagaries  of  a^  very  young  man's 
course  ;  withdrawing  all  counsel  and  sympathy  that 
the  course  might  be  untrammeled.  Later,  he  watched 
with  interest,  and  a  growing  appreciation  of  Jerry's 
power  over  men  ;  but  now  there  was  some  wonder, 
and  a  little  anxiety  mixed  with  his  opinion  of  his  pro- 
tege". Would  the  little  waif  he  had  trained  and  edu- 
cated succeed  at  his  expense,  and  at  Paul's? 

He  rose  from  his  chair  and  marched  up  and  down 
the  room  as  in  the  old  days  when  Jerry  came  to  learn 
his  letters. 

Strange  results  had  come  from  that  long  day's 
watch  up  on  the  mountain-side,  when  he  had  waited 
to  save  the  boy's  life  ;  strange  results,  with  stranger 
things  yet  to  come  ;  and  the  doctor  felt  a  growing  irri- 
tation within  him,  and  a  determination  not  to  be  con- 
quered. He  must  go  East  and  fight  the  battle  there. 

But  Eureka  was  almost  discouraged. 

The  land-agents  had  bought  in  at  very  high  prices 
all  the  lots  the  departing  inhabitants  would  sell ;  had 
built  houses,  and  fences,  and  laid  out  garden  plots 
and  small  fields;  had  improved  the  one  street,  and  re- 
established a  shop  on  a  more  decent  footing  than  Dave 
Morris's  shop  had  ever  occupied  ;  finally,  had  white- 


JERR  Y.  245 

washed  the  whole  town  until  it  shone  and  gleamed 
far  across  the  wide  plain.  All  this  was  very  well:  and 
all  about  Eureka's  outskirts  was  the  doctor's  vast  tract 
staked  off  in  streets  and  lots  that  were  all  neatly 
numbered  with  white  numbers  on  little  black  boards, 
giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  Government  graveyard. 
But  in  spite  of  all  these  advantages,  Eureka  was 
standing  still.  The  land-agents,  shaken  in  their  belief 
of  her  future  success,  watched  with  great  anxiety  the 
few  scattered  emigrants  coming  up  the  plain  from 
where,  to  the  south  of  them,  the  railway  was  crossing 
the  mountains  ;  watched  them  solicitously  ;  even  went 
out  to  meet  them,  but  only  to  find  the  Burden's  cir- 
cular in  their  hands,  and  a  Burden's  man  guiding 
them  on  to  the  daring  little  town. 

When  Greg  left  Eureka  there  was  a  general  failing 
in  spirits  ;  but  when  the  news  came  of  the  defection 
of  the  Star,  their  hopes  followed  their  spirits,  and 
the  people  began  one  by  one  to  go  to  the  doctor  where 
he  lived  in  the  midst  of  Burden's  prosperity,  to  ask 
his  opinion. 

"  Things  look  dark,"  he  answered  them  gravely, "  but 
I  think  I  can  right  them  by  going  East ;  and  I  shall 
go  as  soon  as  I  can  put  things  in  a  condition  to  be 
left." 

And  Paul,  fuming  and  fretting,  cursing  his  fate  and 
Jerry's  impudence,  grew  thin,  and  white,  and  worn 
with  hatred.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he 
had  ever  been  thwarted  except  in  the  doctor's  training; 
the  first  time  that  he  had  been  unable  to  dictate  terms 
save  in  that  one  never-to-be-forgotten  battle  when  he 
and  Jerry  met,  and  Jerry  conquered.  Was  this  greater 
battle  of  later  life  to  have  this  same  termination  ? 

It  should  not,  if  he  died  in  the  struggle  !  And  one 
of  them  would  have  to  die,  for  it  was  a  struggle  that 
could  end  only  with  life. 

Meanwhile,  he  declared  that  he  could  not  live  in 
Burden's  without  the  doctor,  and  during  his  absence 
would  go  over  to  Eureka  and  stay  with  Engineer  Mills. 


246  JERRY. 

So  the  old  place  was  shut  up  for  the  first  time  in 
more  than  twenty  years  ;  for  it  was  as  long  ago  as 
that,  that  an  unknown  man  had  ridden  into  the  town, 
and  bought  old  Burden's  house,  paying  cash  for  it; 
a  fact  that  had  raised  him  to  a  great  height  in  the 
estimation  of  the  people,  and  also  had  put  hope  in 
their  desponding  hearts  :  for  the  mine  was  closed,  and 
they  were  out  of  work,  and  without  a  leading  spirit 
among  them. 

For  more  than  twenty  years  the  doctor  had  lived 
there,  lost  to  his  former  life  and  friends  ;  lost  to  all 
the  world  save  the  little  circle  about  him.  And  now 
he  was  going  back  to  his  old  haunts,  to  look  in  eyes 
that  would  scarcely  know  him  ;  to  clasp  hands  whose 
touch  he  had  almost  forgotten  ;  to  hear  voices  whose 
tones  would  bring  back  to  him  times  and  things  he 
had  striven  through  all  these  years  to  bury  ! 

After  he  had  given  his  word  that  he  would  go,  he 
walked  the  long,  dark  library  back  and  forth  the  live 
.night  long — back  and  forth — back  and  forth  :  and 
open  on  the  table  the  picture  of  the  fair  face  Jerry  had 
seen.  The  face  he  loved  to  look  on — the  face  that 
had  wrecked  his  life — but  not  the  face  that  haunted 
him.  The  face  that  haunted  him  was  the  face  of  one 
whom  he  had  deserted — whose  sad  eyes  had  looked  at 
him  last  from  behind  Convent  bars. 

And  now  he  was  going  back,  he  would  see  her  again, 
the  woman  he  had  loved  to  his  ruin — he  would  hear 
her  voice — would  touch  her  hands — once  more  would 
have  to  say  farewell,  and  come  away — once  more 
would  have  to  fight  to  the  death  the  remorse  and  the 
longing  that  had  darkened  all  his  days  ! 

Would  the  battle  be  as  hard— would  it  hurt  him  now 
as  it  had  done  once  ? 

Still,  he  must  go. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  Gold  ?    yellow,  glittering,  precious  gold  ?   .  .  .  . 
Thus  much  of  this,  will  make  black,  white;  foul,  fair  ; 
Wrong,  right:  base,  noble;  old,  young;  coward,  valiant. 
Ha.  you  gods!  why  this  ?     What  this,  you  god  ?  why  this 
Will  lug  your  priests  and  servants  from  your  sides; 
Pluck  stout  men's  pillows  from  below  their  heads: 
This  yellow  slave  .  .   . 

Will  knit  and  break  religions;  bless  the  accursed; 
Make  the  hoar  leprosy  ador'd  ;    place  thieves, 
And  give  them  title,  knee,  and  approbation, 
With  senators  on  the  bench." 

IT  was  a  bewildering  scene  that  lay  spread  before 
Jerry's  eyes ;  and  nothing  that  he  had  ever  read 
or  imagined  had  prepared  him  for  it. 

He  had  seen  many  strange  things  since  he  had  left 
Burden's  in  the  early  dawn  of  a  cloudy  day  ;  with  a 
valise  borrowed  from  Greg,  strapped  on  behind  his 
saddle ;  and  all  the  gold  Joe  had  given  him  converted 
into  a  check  on  Greg's  father.  It  was  safer  than  to 
travel  with  so  much  loose  gold,  Greg  said. 

"  An'  jest  you  tell  youuns'  par,  Mr.  Greg,  to  gie 
Jerry  jest  as  much  money  as  he  hes  a  min'  to  spen'," 
Joe  had  said,  when  at  last  he  had  been  brought  to 
trust  the  check,  "  an'  what  he  gies  Jerry  over  thar  I'll 
gie  you  over  har;  'cause  Jerry's  my  boy  jest  like  you 
is  hisn." 

And  Greg  had  promised,  while  Jerry  protested, 
until  Joe  came  near  enough  to  whisper  : 

"  If  you  don't  spen'  the  money,  I  aint  agoin*  to 
show  no  way  to  the  mine ;  and  don't  you  fur- 
git  it." 

So  Jerry  said  no  more,  and  Greg  added  a  post- 
script to  his  letter  of  introduction  saying  that  Jerry 

247 


248  JERR  y. 

was  to  have  unlimited  credit,  himself  standing  security 
for  the  money. 

More  than  this,  Greg  had  written  to  his  father  to 
take  Jerry  to  his  own  house  during  his  stay  in  the  city. 
The  letters  had  gone  the  day  before,  immediately  after 
the  meeting  of  the  committee  ;  and  also  a  telegram  to 
Greg's  brother  to  meet  Jerry  on  his  arrival. 

So  Jerry  had  started  on  his  journey  with  a  feeling 
that  he  would  meet  friends  at  the  other  end  ;  but  even 
with  this  assurance  he  had  many  more  doubts  and  diffi- 
culties in  his  mind  than  he  had  had  long  ago,  when  he 
set  forth,  a  poor,  friendless,  half-starved  little  creature, 
on  the  one  journey  of  his  life. 

The  first  car  he  traveled  in  from  the  Pass  to  the 
first  station  on  the  other  side,  where  the  regular  trains 
came  in,  was  a  battered  box-car  that  seemed  strangely 
like  an  old  friend  ;  and  if  only  it  had  been  full  of  loose 
hay,  he  would  have  imagined  himself  back  in  his  old 
trousers  and  ragged  shirt,  with  his  little  bundle  under 
his  arm.  Poor  little  wretch  ! 

At  the  end  of  the  journey,  when  he  was  transferred 
to  a  ferry-boat,  and  felt  the  shiver  and  the  thud  of 
the  engine — heard  the  clang  of  the  bell,  and  watched 
the  water  slipping  by — he  remembered,  with  a  pity  that 
was  pain,  the  deadly  terror  of  the  friendless  child. 
And  how  wonderful  his  escapes  had  been! — surely  he 
had  been  spared  for  something. 

Then  in  the  rush  on  the  docks  he  had  seen  a  face 
so  like  Greg's,  that  he  felt  as  if  a  piece  of  Burden's 
had  reached  this  great  center  of  life  before  him. 

He  was  sure  it  was  Greg's  brother,  and  introduc- 
ing himself  was  warmly  welcomed,  and  then  stowed 
away  in  a  carriage  that  seemed  to  run  on  velvet 
wheels. 

"  Of  course  you  know  you  are  to  stay  with  us,"  the 
young  man  said,  "  my  father  and  mother  are  very  anx- 
ious to  meet  you,  and  to  hear  about  Charlie  ;  indeed, 
my  mother  wanted  to  come  down  after  you  herself." 

"  Your  mother  !  "  Jerry  repeated,  "  how  very  kind!  " 


JERRY.  249 

then  he  fell  to  wondering  how  a  civilized  mother  and 
children  behaved  to  each  other. 

It  all  had  been  very  strange  to  him  ;  the  grand 
house  that  seemed  so  deadly  still  after  the  din  of  the 
street ;  the  stately  woman  with  kind  brown  eyes  like 
her  boys,  and  soft  gray  hair,  who  came  forward  to 
meet  him  with  both  hands  held  out  in  welcome  ;  and 
soft  lace  and  ribbons  and  silk  floating  about  her 
almost  like  a  cloud. 

Then  afterward  the  tailor  had  been  a  strange  expe- 
rience ;  and  his  new  clothes  a  still  stranger  one  ;  and 
he  laughed  as  he  looked  at  himself,  and  wondered  if 
Joe  would  know  him. 

It  had  been  stranger  than  any  fiction  he  had  ever 
read  ;  but  this  sight  that  sketched  before  his  eyes  now, 
was  the  strangest  of  all  ! 

The  glittering  horseshoe  of  lights  and  brilliant 
colors  ;  the  soft  rustle  of  silken  garments  ;  the  shim- 
mer of  jewels  ;  the  delicate  faces  that  seemed  to 
beam  and  smile  from  every  side,  and  that  all  seemed 
beautiful ;  the  graceful  courtesy  of  the  men  who  bowed 
or  rose,  or  sat  as  some  fair  woman  willed  ;  it  was  mar- 
velous to  him  ! 

And  this  was  what  education  and  civilization  did 
for  the  human  race  ;  this  was  what  gold  wrought  ? 

He  sat  silent  and  observant ;  watching  from  his 
place  in  a  silken-lined  box,  with  a  jeweled  fan  in  his 
hand,  that  he  had  been  taught  laughingly  by  the  fair 
girl  at  his  side  to  wave  gracefully  ;  watching  while 
his  heart  sank  within  him,  as  he  wondered  how  his 
daily  life  would  seem  when  this  dream  was  ended. 
Ended,  and  he  had  gone  back  to  live  with  those  creat- 
ures among  whom  he  had  grown  up  :  those  creatures 
who  yet  were  men  and  women  with  the  same  hearts, 
and  souls,  and  humanity  as  these  people  ;  those  dirty 
drunkards  and  bedraggled  drudges  out  in  Burden's 
and  Eureka  were  free,  and  equal ;  had  rights  and 
votes  ;  had  everything  except  money  ! 

No  wonder  the  world  worshiped  money  ;  no  wonder 


250  JERRY. 

there  was  magic  in  the  gleam  of  gold  ;  no  wonder  men 
toiled  and  slaved  for  it.  What  were  life  worth  lived 
as  those  poor  creatures  lived  it  out  where  he  had  come 
from  ?  Who  would  not  rather  die  striving  for  the 
glittering  power,  than  sink  to  such  degradation  ?  He 
had  read  and  thought  about  life  as  he  was  living  it  now; 
he  had  watched  the  doctor  and  Paul,  and  the  differ- 
ences between  them  and  the  people  about  them  ;  and 
now  he  was  among  people  who  were  as  they  were — 
people  with  soft  voices  and  gentle  ways  :  and  he 
longed  with  a  bitter  longing  to  have  been  born  one  of 
them. 

"  Honest  toil,"  and  "  self-made  men,"  and  all  the 
other  cries  built  up  to  comfort  those  who  could  not  do 
better,  rang  very  false  in  his  ears.  Good  things  and 
to  be  commended,  of  course  ;  and  he  hated  himself 
and  cursed  his  low  blood  that  must  be  the  cause  of 
these  weak  longings. 

Yet,  he  knew  that  many  of  these  about  him  were 
newly  risen  to  this  grade  of  life  ;  that  to  them  he 
looked  as  they  did  ;  and,  successful,  he  would  com- 
mand to  all  appearances  a  station  equal  to  theirs  :  this 
was  all  true — and  yet  ? 

He  watched  Mrs.  Greg  as  she  sat,  an  exquisitely 
finished  picture  of  what  a  woman  should  be  ;  if  he  had 
had  such  a  mother  ! 

The  thought  died  in  its  birth — his  mother  ?  His 
face  burned  ;  no  love  could  have  been  truer  than  hers — 
none  could  do  more  than  she  had  done  for  the  one  she 
loved — she  had  died  for  him. 

Suddenly  the  lights  about  him  were  darkened  ;  the 
hum  of  voices  was  hushed,  and  from  some  unseen 
place  he  heard  the  sweetest  sound  that  ever  had  come 
to  his  ears.  The  cries  of  the  wild  creatures  that  he 
used  to  hear  in  the  white  winter  nights  when  the  snow 
lay  over  all  the  dead  land  ;  the  wail  of  the  wind  as  it 
swept  up  and  down  the  gorges,  whispering  humanly 
among  the  black  pines  ;  the  blackness  of  the  mine  and 
the  water  that  dropped  forever  ;  and  the  stream  that 


JERRY.  251 

fell  from  the  far  sun-lightened  heights  into  the  black- 
ness of  the  gorge,  its  voice  was  there  too,  and  its 
white  hands  thrown  up  in  despair  !  He  heard  it  all  in 
the  music  that  stole  about  him  ;  rising,  sweeping  over 
the  silent  host  of  people  ;  falling,  sighing  down  to  a 
far-off  whisper. 

And  all  his  longings  were  there  ;  and  all  his  fears 
and  hopes  ;  and  all  the  tumult  of  his  soul  seemed 
to  thicken  and  darken,  until  he  longed  to  hold  up  his 
hands  like  the  falling  stream,  and  cry  aloud  !  What 
was  it  that  made  him  find  in  that  music  a  tone  that 
told  all  the  loneliness  of  his  life;  all  the  pathetic  pain, 
and  hunger,  and  fear  of  his  childhood  ;  the  love  of  his 
mother,  and  her  wild  cry  as  she  caught  him  from  his 
death  ;  the  wistful  look  he  remembered  in  her  eyes  ; 
it  was  all  there  in  that  music  played  for  the  rich,  and 
the  happy,  and  the  beautiful ;  and  what  right  had  he 
to  find  his  poor  ragged  life  there  ? 

Slowly  the  beautiful  picture  that  hung  before  him 
rolled  silently  away  ;  the  music  faded  from  about  him  ; 
and  the  people  on  the  stage  began  a  mimic  represent- 
ation of  life.  It  was  well  put  on  the  stage,  the  critics 
said,  and  all  the  parts  were  well  sustained.  Jerry 
could  not  tell  ;  but  he  heard  every  word,  and  to  him 
it  was  all  real ;  real  joy,  real  sorrow,  and  at  the  end 
real  failure  and  despair.  He  lived  through  it  all,  and 
when  the  curtain  rolled  down  again,  he  was  sorry  that 
the  people  about  him  spoke  to  him. 

"  We  will  wait  for  the  farce,"  they  said,  "the  play 
was  too  sad  to  finish  the  evening  with"  ;  so  they  waited, 
and  the  music  floated  about  them  once  more. 

Something  drew  his  eyes — caused  him  to  look  up — 
he  never  knew  what  the  power  was  ;  but  opposite  him, 
looking  down  on  him,  was  a  face  that  surely  he  knew  ; 
a  face  that  was  neither  old  nor  young  ;  but  it  held  his 
eyes. 

How  was  it  he  knew  it  so  well  ?  how  was  it  that,  like 
the  music,  it  mingled  with  all  his  memories,  so  that  it 
seemed  a  part  of  them  ? 


252  JERRY. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  he  asked  of  Miss  Greg. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  "  we  have  lived 
here  only  a  little  while,  and  we  do  not  know  many 
people." 

Through  all  the  silly  farce,  that  only  provoked  him, 
he  watched  the  face  that  haunted  him  so  strangely, 
and  mixed  itself  in  with  his  past.  He  had  no  eyes  for 
the  girl  who  sat  with  this  almost  phantom  woman  ;  he 
had  no  eyes  for  anything  but  the  exquisitely  sad  eyes 
that  now  and  then  looked  at  him  so  earnestly. 

Who  was  she  ? — how  and  where  had  he  ever  seen 
her  ?  And  while  he  puzzled  the  evening  wore  away, 
and  they  drove  home  through  the  glittering  streets  to 
an  entertainment  given  in  his  honor. 

"You  are  a  lion,  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  Mrs.  Greg  said 
kindly,  "  so  many  have  read  of  you  in  connection  with 
the  gold-fever  in  Eureka,  and  with  the  new  railway  ; 
and  since  you  have  founded  a  rival  town  and  mine, 
the  interest  in  you  has  doubled." 

"And  Paul  Henley,  do  you  know  him?"  Jerry 
asked,  while  his  heart  beat  a  little  faster  for  her  words. 
She  shook  her  head. 

"  Only  through  my  son's  letters,"  she  answered, 
"  and  Charles  does  not  seem  very  favorably  im- 
pressed," she  went  on  in  a  lower  tone  ;  "  he  says  that 
Mr.  Henley's  temper  was  never  very  pleasant,  but 
since  your  success  he  has  been  unbearable  ;  because, 
I  suppose,  you  have  outwitted  him  and  his  guardian 
so  entirely." 

Then  the  people  began  to  arrive,  and  Jerry  was  in- 
troduced to  numbers  of  portly  gentlemen  and  slim 
dandies, — to  anxious  mammas  and  pretty  daughters, 
and  discovered  that  all  he  said  was  listened  to  with 
the  most  marked  attention, — so  marked  that  almost 
it  embarrassed  him. 

The  older  men  plied  him  with  questions  as  to  what 
he  had  done,  and  what  were  his  intentions  for  the 
future  ;  but  here  his  natural  reticence  helped  him. 
What  he  had  done  he  told  frankly  enough  ;  what  the 


JERRY.  253 

plans  for  the  future  were,  he  told  them  was  not  his 
secret. 

But,  as  the  evening  wore  on,  Jerry  found  himself 
more  and  more  the  attraction.  Bewilderingly  the 
truth  began  to*  dawn  on  him  that  he  was  a  success  ; 
that  in  the  eyes  of  these  people  he  was  a  rising  man  ; 
that  these  men  who  had  millions  at  their  command 
looked  on  him  with  confidence,  because  in  their  esti- 
mation he  had  proved  himself  clever  enough  to  outwit 
their  trusted  agent,  and  so  undermine  a  plan  that  was 
supported  by  all  these  millions.  Could  this  be  true  ? — 
had  he  done  it,  and  how  ? 

"  And  the  railway,  will  I  be  granted  an  extension 
of  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

Then  they  shook  their  heads  and  rubbed  their  fat 
chins,  and  said  that  this  question  was  now  before  the 
Board  ;  and  they  would  give  Mr.  Wilkerson  a  hearing 
just  as  soon  as  their  man  should  be  on  the  ground  to 
state  the  case  for  Eureka.  And  it  would  not  be  long 
now,  as  he  had  telegraphed  that  he  would  be  with 
them  shortly. 

The  doctor  was  coming  ! 

Jerry  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  if  to  clear 
them. 

At  last  they  were  to  meet  face  to  face,  and  tell  their 
stories  openly ;  at  last  he  would  hear  an  explanation 
from  this  man  he  loved  so  well  ;  this  man  for  whom 
he  would  so  readily  give  his  life  ! 

Then  the  evening  was  over,  and  the  people  went 
away,  and  Mrs.  Greg  said  an  especially  gentle,  kind 
good-night  to  him, 

"  How  proud  your  mother  would  have  been  !  "  she 
said,  with  her  jeweled  hand  on  his  arm,  and  in  her  soft 
eyes  bright  tears  of  sympathy. 

His  mother. 

And  he  looked  into  her  face  with  a  strange  pain 
tugging  at  his  heart  ;  he  had  forgotten  his  mother, 
and  this  stranger  remembered  her. 


254  JERRY. 

"  She  is  dead,"  he  said  slowly,  "dead  long  ago." 
Dead  long  ago — poor,  weary  mother  ;  poor,  vvornout 

drudge  that  this  fine,  lady  would  not  have  looked  at ; 

— dead  in  his  place  !  t 

And  turning  away  he  went  to  his  room,  while  all  the 

pride  and  triumph  faded  from  him. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  Who  calleth  on  thee,  Heart  ?    World's  Strife, 
With  a  golden  heft  to  his  knife  : 
World's  Mirth,  with  a  finger  fine 
That  draws  on  a  board  in  wine 

Her  blood-red  plans  of  life  : 
World's  Gain,  with  a  brow  knit  down  . 
World's  Fame,  with  a  laurel  crown, 
Which  rustles  most  as  the  leaves  turn  brown — 

Heart,  wilt  thou  go  ?  " 

DAY  after  day  passed  for  Jerry  in  sight-seeing  ;  in 
dinners  and  lunches  ;  suppers  and  operas  ;  plays 
and  drives.  Each  director  of  the  railway  enter- 
tained him,  and  many  people  besides  who  had  children 
to  place  well  in  life.  And  Mr.  Greg  gave  him  care- 
ful instructions  and  advice  as  to  the  tone  to  take  with 
each  important  person  he  met  ;  and  Jerry  heeded 
with  rare  wisdom,  and  being  possessed  of  much  nat- 
ural tact,  was  winning  day  by  day  more  and"  more 
favor  and  influence. 

In  company  he  found  himself  remembering  and 
copying  the  doctor  in  his  ways  and  words,  and  Paul 
too  :  almost  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  a  different 
person  ;  he  could  not  be  the  same  Jerry  who  fed  the 
pigs,  and  chopped  the  wood,  and  cooked  Joe's  supper. 
With  money  slipping  like  water  through  his  fingers  ; 
going  for  all  sorts  of  things  of  which  he  had  not 
known  until  now,  but  that  now  seemed  necessities  ; 
with  each  day  brimful  of  change  and  pleasure, 
and  luxury, — he  wondered  how  he  had  lived  the  nar- 
row life  of  the  past  ;  and  he  wondered  how  much 
money  Joe  had. 

For  now  at  any  cost  he  must  have  money.  The 
thought  had  grown  into  a  desire  ;  the  desire  had 

255 


256  JERRY. 

spread  into  a  longing — a  longing  that  pervaded 
every  moment  of  his  life.  A  thirst,  he  had  called 
it  once  when  speaking  to  the  half-starved  creatures 
in  Eureka.  Hard  words  for  those  poor  wretches 
who  had  no  greater  longing  for  gold  than  these  grand 
people.  And  now,  as  if  in  judgment,  the  thirst  for  gold 
was  on  him  ;  the  fatal  plague-spot  had  appeared,  and 
had  spread  until  to  him  success  meant  life — failure 
meant  death  ! 

And  so  many  chances  against  him  still. 

At  last  one  day  they  said  that  the  doctor  had  come. 
Two  weeks,  that  had  seemed  like  two  years,  had 
passed  by  him  in  this  new  life  ;  and  now  came  the 
climax — and  Jerry  wondered  as  to  the  results. 

He  had  never  lived  before  :  he  knew  this  now  when 
he  felt  the  fever  in  his  blood  that  made  him  long  to 
face  and  conquer  the  world  J  He  longed  for  the 
hearing  that  would  be  given  him  before  the  Board  ; 
he  longed  to  tell  his  story,  and  watch  that  grave, 
severe  face,  whose  calm  he  had  never  seen  broken. 

Long  ago  he  had  been  chilled  by  this  calm,  and 
had  learned  to  keep  his  dreams  in  the  quiet  of  his  own 
heart. 

"You  are  a  dreamer,  Jerry,"  the  doctor  had  once 
said,  "and  dreamers  are  never  practical." 

Now  he  would  have  a  chance  to  prove  himself  ; 
now  the  doctor  would  find  that  he  had  made  stand- 
ing room  for  himself  among  these  worldly  men,  who 
were  nothing  if  not  practical  money-gatherers. 

More  practical  in  their  winning  and  hoarding  than 
poor  old  Joe  was,  who  toiled  day  by  day  in  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  ;  closer  in  their  transactions  than 
stingy  Burk  ;  more  anxious  about  their  gains  than 
besotted  Morris  !  Yes,  even  among  these  he  had 
made  himself  a  success  ;  and  the  doctor  would  see  it, 
and  feel  it,  and  hear  it  on  all  hands.  It  was  worth 
ten  years  of  life,  this  success  that  was  as  much  social 
as  it  was  financial. 


JERRY.  257 

The  music  was  more  beautiful,  if  that  were  possible, 
than  it  had  been  since  the  first  evening  he  heard  it  : 
and  the  scene,  though  more  familiar,  was  equally 
bright.  Jerry  leaned  against  the  side  of  the  box,  with 
a  gay  party  all  around  him,  who  were  impatient  that 
the  play  should  be  over  and  leave  them  free  for  the 
ball  that  was  to  follow. 

But  to  Jerry  the  music  came  as  of  old  it  came  to 
Saul  ;  and  he  listened  thankfully,  while  the  burning 
spirit  within  him  was  laid  to  rest.  Yet  the  music 
seemed  in  some  sort  to  take  its  keynote  from  the 
thoughts  that  held  him  ;  seemed  to  vibrate  and  quiver 
with  the  struggle  that  would  fill  the  next  day.  For 
on  the  following  day  he  was  to  plead  his  cause — to 
stand  or  fall  before  the  man  for  whose  commendation 
he  would  have  done  anything.  Would  he  be  able  to 
rouse  him  ;  once  to  shake  him  from  that  calm  ;  once 
to  make  him  break  his  self-control  ? 

He  looked  up  to  the  box  opposite,  where  he  had 
always  looked  for  the  face  he  had  not  seen  since  the 
first  night,  but  that  nevertheless  had  haunted  him  ;  he 
looked  up  now — 

Now,  and  almost  a  story  was  told  him — almost  a 
mystery  was  revealed.  She  was  there,  looking  up 
into  the  doctor's  eyes. 

Jerry  drew  a  long  breath  ;  he  knew  now  where  he 
had  seen  her  face  ;  he  remembered  even  the  shape  of 
the  case,  and  the  red  of  the  morocco  ;  he  remembered 
the  trick  of  the  little  catch,  and  the  face  that  had  met 
his  eyes. 

"  There  is  your  friend  up  there  with  Henley's 
mother,"  Mr.  Greg  said,  bending  over  Jerry  ;  "  it  was 
strange  her  husband  should  give  away  his  boy  Pauf, 
give  him  away  so  that  his  own  mother  should  never 
see  him  again ";  then  Mr.  Greg  turned  away  to 
auswer  some  remark. 

Paul's  mother  ? 

Jerry  could  not  account  for  the  involuntary  shudder 
that  had  thrilled  him  at  Mr.  Greg's  words.  Why 


258  JERRY. 

should  he  object  to  this  woman  being  Paul's  mother  ; 
why  should  he  feel  as  if  for  her  sake  he  must  hate 
Paul  ?  The  fact  of  her  being  Paul's  mother  would 
account  for  the  doctor's  interest  in  Paul  ;  for  one 
glance  as  they  stood  together  told  Jerry  that  the 
doctor  loved  her.  If  so,  why  should  not  they  finish 
their  story  now  that  she  was  free  ?  And  could  it  be 
this  that  had  silenced  the  life  of  this  man — that  had 
driven  him  out  from  his  place  in  the  world  ?  Just 
for  the  love  of  this  woman  who  had  meanwhile 
loved  and  married  another  ?  Jerry  shook  his 
head. 

This  could  not  be  all  ;  there  was  something  deeper 
than  this,  something  no  mortal  eye  could  see, — some 
overwhelming  sorrow  to  warp  so  strong  a  life. 

And  Jerry  seemed  to  see  the  long,  low  house  with- 
out fence  or  garden,  with  the  black  mountains  for  a 
background,  and  the  wide  plains  stretching  shadowless 
in  front.  He  could  see  the  dim  library  ;  he  could  see 
the  flickering  of  the  firelight,  and  hear  the  clanking  of 
the  doctor's  spurs  as  he  strode  up  and  down.  Which 
was  real,  that  lonely  home  on  the  plain,  or  this  life 
that  seemed  to  have  caught  the  glamour  from  the 
"  Golden  Age  "  ? 

And  this  man,  so  perfectly  dressed,  standing  with 
such  easy  grace,  so  at  home  amid  all  this  richness, 
was  this  the  real  man,  or  was  the  reality  the  one  he 
had  known  out  yonder  in  his  rough  hunting  suit  ? 

Which  was  the  real  man — which  was  the  real  life  f 
And  Jerry's  mind  wandered  during  the  play;  and  the 
music  mingled  and  wove  its  way  through  all  his 
thoughts  and  questions. 

But  the  next  day  would  tell  all ;  the  next  day,  that 
would  stand  a  mark  forever  in  his  life  ! 

And  a  cold,  dreary  day  it  was,  with  the  rain  falling 
down  persistently  on  the  drenched  world.  Trickling 
in  little  streams  from  the  omnibus  drivers'  hats,  and 
from  their  thin  horses  ;  falling  mercilessly  on  the  poor 
scraps  of  humanity  hunting  greedily  in  the  garbage 


JERRY.  259 

barrels  ;  making  hasty  little  runlets  around  the  cor- 
ners of  the  pavements  ;  and  seeming  as  if  striving 
with  its  thousand  little  tones  to  drown  the  noises  of 
humanity. 

Jerry  stood  watching  the  passers-by, — watching  the 
omnibus  men  and  horses — watching  the  drenched  bar- 
rel-pickers. They  were  very  pitiful,  the  blurred  pict- 
ures he  saw  between  the  raindrops  that  trickled 
slowly  down  the  shining  plate-glass  windows.  This 
was  the  wrong  side  of  the  gilded  picture  of  city  life, 
the  wrong  side  of  which  he  had  read,  but  as  yet  had 
not  seen.  These  figures  were  some  of  the  poor  creat- 
ures who  were  crowded  out  of  life  ;  who  were  pushed 
to  the  wall  to  die  ;  who  were  looked  on  as  surplus 
population  that  had  no  right  in  the  world  ;  who  should 
never  have  been  born,  and  for  whom  disease  and  starv- 
ation were  the  only  remedies. 

These  were  the  people  he  had  planned  to  help  ; 
these  were  the  people  for  whom  he  wanted  the  land 
saved,  the  people  no  one  cared  for,  who  had  no  chance 
in  life.  Had  he  stood  to  his  purpose  ? 

He  moved  his  hand  across  his  eyes  slowly. 

In  all  these  weeks  he  had  had  but  one  thought — the 
success  of  his  venture  as  a  speculation  ;  and  now  he 
was  pledged,  almost,  to  have  no  other  thought. 

Having  accepted  favors  from  these  rich  people,  he 
was  under  bond,  almost,  to  succeed  ;  had  promised 
almost  that  money  should  be  made  for  them  from 
Burden's.  If  the  railway  went  there  his  plan  would 
succeed  ;  if  the  railway  went  there  it  would  be  to  make 
money  for  these  rich  people. 

As  a  looker-on,  how  he  would  have  despised  such  a 
state  of  things,  how  he  would  have  launched  all  his 
power  against  such  seeming  injustice  !  Yet,  as  an 
actor  he  was  bound  and  held  down,  a  slave  to  the 
money  of  these  people,  to  the  money  that  had  be- 
come a  necessity  to  him. 

More  and  more  gloomy  his  thoughts  became  as  he 
stood  in  the  rich,  warm  room,  looking  out  on  the  fall- 


260  JERR  Y. 

ing  rain  that  seemed  to  sing  a  requiem  for  the  darker 
side  of  life. 

How  would  the  day  end — how  would  he  stand  to- 
morrow at  this  hour  ?  It  was  in  vain  that  he  made  an 
effort  to  arrange  the  words  he  would  say — they  slipped 
away  from  him  hopelessly  ;  he  could  trust  only  that 
when  the  time  came  his  excitement  would  help  him. 
Butthrough  all  one  thought  haunted  him — one  thought 
that  he  was  afraid  would  take  all  his  strength  away, 
and  leave  him  without  a  case, — the  thought  that  he 
had  not  been  true  to  his  earlier  purpose.  He  had  be- 
gun to  work  for  the  good  of  his  own  class  ;  now  he 
was  working  only  for  the  success  of  his  venture.  Its 
success  might  mean  the  good  of  the  people,  but  he 
knew  that  if  it  did  not  mean  this,  he  would  pursue  the 
success  just  as  eagerly.  He  had  not  been  true. 

So  he  brooded  gloomily,  looking  out  on  the  falling 
rain,  and  behind  him  the  women  near  the  fire  con- 
versed in  their  soft  tones,  and  worked  their  useless 
embroideries. 

He  had  no  right  as  yet  to  such  a  place  as  this  in  the 
world  ;  he  had  not  been  born  to  it,  nor  as  yet  had 
reached  it  through  any  work  of  his  own.  Joe  and  the 
doctor  had  brought  him  up  and  educated  him  through 
a  pure  sense  of  "  mercy  and  loving-kindness  ";  he 
was  now  spending  Joe's  money,  and  by  its  power  hold- 
ing an  undeserved  position  in  society.  He  felt  that 
he  was  an  impostor,  and  the  feeling  had  driven  him 
into  telling  his  story  to  these  kind  women.  He  had 
tried  to  tell  it  truly  ;  he  had  tried  not  to  soften  any 
of  the  roughnesses,  nor  to  lessen  any  of  his  obliga- 
tions ;  and  yet,  when  he  finished,  they  gave  him  the 
gentlest  sympathy  ;  and  Mrs.  Greg's  eyes  had  filled 
with  tears  over  the  poor  little  ragged  waif  ! 

"  Think  if  my  boys  had  suffered  so,"  she  said. 

Was  this  a  woman's  natural  way,  Jerry  wondered, 
to  take  the  pathetic  part  of  a  life  and  spread  it  over 
all  the  sins  and  wickednesses  ;  were  women  always  so 
merciful  ?  He  did  not  know  enough  of  women  to 


JERRY.  261 

draw  any  conclusion  ;  but  he  felt  sorry  that  he  had 
said  anything,  it  made  him  feel  weak  and  pitiful,  as  if 
he  had  been  complaining,  or  asking  for  sympathy. 
Among  men  it  would  have  been  different  :  how  he 
had  arrived  at  his  present  position,  to  whom  he  was 
indebted,  would  make  no  difference  to  men  ;  all  they 
would  want  to  hear  would  be  how  he  intended  to  make 
a  success  of  his  town.  It  would  be  no  concern  of 
theirs  whose  lives  or  teachings  served  as  his  steps  to 
success  ;  their  only  question  would  be,  is  he  success- 
ful, and  how  much  advancement  can  we  count  on  from 
this  man's  success  ?  If  he  ruined  the  doctor  in  this 
struggle,  if  he  took  from  old  Joe  the  one  occupation 
and  joy  of  his  life — it  would  be  nothing  to  these  men — 
nothing  to  the  greedy  crowd  watching  out  in  Dur- 
den's,  following  close  on  his  heels  with  hungry  eyes 
fixed  on  his  every  movement,  ready  with  grasping 
hands  to  tear  him  down  if  he  but  seemed  to  fail  them 
for  a  moment ! 

He  looked  out  at  an  old,  bent,  ragged  creature  stir- 
ring in  a  refuse  barrel  ;  hooking  out  scraps  of  meat, 
moldy  bones,  decayed  vegetables  ;  fishing  in  the 
dust-barrel  of  the  Gregs  ;  and  Mrs.  Greg's  eyes  were 
still  wet  with  tears  over  the  story  of  his  life. 

Suppose  Joe  had  wept  only  ? 

He  turned  from  the  window  and  walked  hurriedly 
down  the  room  ;  he  was  becoming  more  and  more 
vile  every  moment.  How  could  he  think  of  anything 
except  the  kindness  of  these  people  ;  and  that  if  he 
failed  he  would  have  no  better  place  in  the  world  than 
the  beggar  he  had  been  watching.  Never  !  never 
while  he  had  life  and  strength  ;  never  while  he  had  a 
mind  to  conceive  and  guide,  would  he  yield  one  inch 
of  this  position  he  had  stormed.  He  must  lead — he 
would  lead  ;  he  would  have  this  money  that  made  the 
world  so  beautiful  to  those  who  gained  it  :  that  left 
all  bleak  and  cold  to  those  who  were  worsted  in  the 
fray.  And  some  must  fall  in  this  wild,  grinding  con- 
flict ;  a  man  could  take  care  only  of  himself  ;  and 


262  JERRY. 

with  all  their  efforts  some  could  not  accomplish  even 
this.  This  was  the  new  lesson  he  had  learned  from 
the  civilized  and  educated. 

Then  Fred  came  to  tell  him  that  the  carriage  was 
ready,  and  it  was  time  to  go  :  and  Mrs.  Greg  insisted  on 
his  buttoning  his  overcoat  more  securely — and  Isabel 
pinned  a  pansy  to  his  buttonhole.  "  You  must  suc- 
ceed," she  said,  while  Fred  laughed  at  them  for  having 
any  doubt. 

"  The  old  gentleman  has  had  a  fresh  letter  from 
Charlie,"  he  said  by  way  of  comfort,  "  and  he  intends 
reading  it  to  the  Board  before  Wilkerson  begins  his 
speech." 

"  Then  I  will  not  fail,"  Jerry  answered,  while  a  new 
light  carrie  into  his  eyes  ;  his  eyes  that  had  never  lost 
the  wistful  look  that  had  won  him  so  much  in  his  life  ; 
"  it  will  seem  like  a  piece  of  the  old  life  come  to  urge 
me  on  to  better  it  and  to  help  it  up  "  ;  then  he  and 
Fred  went  away,  and  Isabel  waved  a  farewell  from 
the  window. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  '  Be  strong, 

Take  courage  ;  now  you're  on  our  level — now  ! 
The  next  step  saves  you  ! '  I  was  flushed  wiih  praise, 
But,  pausing  just  a  moment  to  draw  breath, 
I  could  not  choose  but  murmur  to  myself 
'  Is  this  all  ?  all  that's  done  ?  and  all  that's  gained  ? 
If  this  then  be  success,  'tis  dismaller 
Than  any  failure.'  " 

IT  was  a  handsome  room  in  which  the  Board  met  ; 
richly  furnished  and  warm,  and  with  plenty  of 

light  and  space.  But  this  day  it  was  a  little  crowded, 
for  many  of  the  stockholders  were  there  to  hear  and 
vote  on  the  road  being  extended  to  Burden's. 

They  were  a  little  late,  Fred  and  Jerry,  and  Mr. 
Greg,  who  was  chairman,  was  impatient  over  the 
delay. 

"  Do  not  look  anxious,"  Fred  said  as  they  mounted 
the  stairs,  "  else  they  will  think  it  a  personal  matter." 

Jerry  started  a  little,  the  advice  was  so  good, — and 
mentally  he  thanked  Fred  for  it ;  aloud  he  said,  "  Our 
being  late  does  not  look  like  too  great  anxiety." 

And  truly  as  he  entered  the  great  room,  with  a  smile 
on  his  lips,  and  a  pansy  in  his  buttonhole,  he  did  not 
looked  troubled.  The  doctor  watched  him  curiously 
as  he  came  in  :  tall,  well-made,  easy  in  his  movements, 
meeting  all  with  an  air  of  quiet  equality  ;  being  cor- 
dially welcomed  by  the  great  bankers  and  stock -brokers, 
and  railway  men  ;  and  seeming  to  think  nothing  of  it. 

Could  this  be  jerry  ?  His  clothes  fitting  him  per- 
fectly ;  with  even  an  air  of  distinction  about  him  ; 
and,  stranger  than  all,  come  to  meet  him  on  equal 
ground — come  to  cross  swords  with  him  ! 

Things  had  changed  marvelously. 

263 


264  .JERRY. 

Then  their  eyes  met,  and  Jerry  felt  the  hot  color 
creep  slowly  up  into  his  face  as  he  remembered  the 
day  that  now  seemed  so  far  away — the  day  when 
this  man  had  shaken  him  off  so  coldly.  But  he  had 
a  clew  to  the  secret  now  ;  he  had  found  it  the  night 
before  in  that  woman's  face.  She  had  absorbed  the 
doctor's  heart  and  life  ;  and  he,  Jerry,  was  only  a 
part  of  the  missionary  work  he  had  done  either  to  fill 
up  his  life,  or  as  atonement  for  something  in  his  past. 

This  last  was  a  new  thought,  and  flashed  like  a 
stream  of  light  on  Jerry's  mind  ;  and  he  turned  to 
look  again  on  this  man  who  puzzled  him  so.  What 
was  hidden  in  that  life  ;  hidden  behind  the  inscruta- 
ble sadness  of  that  grave,  cold  face  ? 

A  bow  was  all  their  greeting,  and  they  took  their 
seats  the  width  of  the  room  apart.  Only  a  moment ; 
then  the  meeting  was  called  to  order,  and  Mr.  Greg 
rose  to  say  that,  before  introducing  his  young  friend 
Mr.  Wilkerson,  he  wished  to  read  a  letter  he  had  re- 
ceived that  morning  from  his  son,  who  being  in  Dur- 
den's  could  give  the  latest  news. 

Then  he  read  a  letter  telling  of  the  success  of  every- 
thing that  had  been  touched  ;  that  the  new  lodes  in- 
creased in  riches  as  they  went  deeper  ;  that  even  if 
the  old  mine  were  not  reopened,  and  even  if  the  road 
was  refused  them,  it  would  pay  to  transport  by  wagon 
all  that  the  town  needed,  and  all  that  she  would  have 
to  export.  That  it  was  an  ascertained  fact  that  much 
of  the  gold-dust  purporting  to  come  from  the  Eureka 
Mine  had  been  gathered  in  Burden's  gorge  and  sold 
to  Engineer  Mills.  Then  the  young  man  added  : 
"  Never  shall  I  cease  to  thank  Mr.  Wilkerson  for  the 
opening  he  has  given  me,  and  for  the  way  in  which  he 
showed  me  my  best  advantage.  He  used  no  persua- 
sions, he  asked  me  only  to  look  for  myself  and  decide 
on  the  truth  -of  his  representations.  Now,  I  consider 
myself  a  rich  man  in  owning  the  land  I  at  present 
hold  in  Durclen's  gorge." 

There  was  a  little  murmur  when  Mr.  Greg  finished; 


JERRY.  265 

and  it  was  moved  that  Mr.  Wilkerson  should  now 
state  his  case  and  his  wants. 

It  was  a  tremulous,  exciting  moment  for  Jerry  ;  he 
had  never  made  a  speech  in  his  life  save  to  the  people 
in  Eureka,  and  how  would  he  do  it  ?  One  moment  he 
paused,  and  in  that  moment  heard  an  inimical  stock- 
holder say  in  an  aside  : 

"  I  suppose  his  talent  lies  in  addressing  mobs." 

The  blood  sprang  into  Jerry's  face  as  he  laid  aside 
his  overcoat  and  mounted  the  platform  where  Mr. 
Greg  sat.  The  aside  had  made  him  angry  ;  they 
should  not  scoff  at  him  ;  he  would  make  his  speech 
and  carry  his  point. 

He  shook  himself  a  little,  as  if  his  clothes  were 
not  quite  in  their  usual  place  ;  then  drawing  himself 
up,  he  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  looked  out 
quietly  over  his  audience. 

He  knew  nothing  of  the  usual  etiquette  of  bowing 
first  to  the  chairman,  and  then  to  his  hearers  ;  he 
knew  nothing  of  beginning,  "  Mr.  President,  and  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Board  ";  he  knew  nothing  of  gestures  ; 
he  knew  only  that  he  had  something  to  say,  and  must 
say  it  convincingly  or  fail  ;  and  that  these  people  were 
willing  that  he  should  fail. 

"  I  heard  a  gentleman  say  a  moment  ago,"  he  be- 
gan, and  his  voice  rang  clear  and  fresh,  and  a  little 
angry,  "  that  he  supposed  my  talent  lay  in  addressing 
mobs  ;  it  may,  or  it  may  not  ;  but  I  can  say  truly  that 
in  all  my  life  I  never  have  made  a  speech  save  to  what 
this  quiet  company  would  Call  a  mob.  I  saw  them 
called  a  mob  in  your  newspapers,  where  I  had  the 
honor  of  being  called  their  leader  ;  and  both  about 
me  and  about  them  a  great  mistake  was  made.  They 
were  poor,  and  they  were  ignorant,  if  that  constitutes  a 
mob  ;  and  they  were  human  creatures  who  had  been 
wronged  ;  and,  rightly,  this  should  have  converted 
them  into  a  mob  ";  the  color  in  his  face  deepening, 
and  his  eyes  flashing  as  he  looked  over  the  upturned 
faces.  "  Those  poor  people  had  lived  in  that  far-off, 


266  JERRY. 

lonely  region  for  more  than  twenty-five  years  ;  a  re- 
gion that  had  ceased  to  have  even  the  excitement  of 
being  on  the  frontier,  or  near  an  agency ;  had  lived 
there  on  scanty  wages,  contented  with  the  thought 
that  if  any  good  days  ever  came,  they  would  have 
their  share  in  them.  The  good,  days  came,  and  they 
were  pushed  aside  !  They  had  been  improvident, 
had  been  wasteful,  had  been  ungrateful  to  one  who 
had  spent  much  money  and  time  in  helping  them;  and 
they  deserved  to  be  pushed  aside  ? 

"  Perhaps,  but  remember  that  they  were  as  ignorant 
as  beasts — mentally  and  morally  they  were  blind  ! 

"  Long  before  this  issue,  I  had  determined  to  help 
them  ;  determined,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  to 
raise  the  whole  class,  because  it  is  the  class  I  spring 
from,"  and  he  looked  straight  across  at  the  doctor, 
who  was  watching  him  intently.  "  So  these  people 
believed  me  that  I  was  their  friend  ;  believed  I  meant 
to  work  for  them,  and  yet  I  had  to  abuse  them  round- 
ly— had  to  knock  one  man  down  before  I  could  make 
them  see  things  as  they  should  see  them  for  their  own 
good  " — and  a  hearty  "  Good  enough  !  "  that  sounded 
strangely  like  a  Eureka  comment,  came  from  some 
one  in  the  audience.  "  Maybe  all  this  made  them  a 
mob,"  he  went  on,  "  but  they  are  quiet  enough  now. 
They  followed  the  advice  given  them,  and  held  their 
lands  in  Eureka  until  the  price  offered  was  as  high  as 
it  could  be  forced.;  they  then  sold,  and  bought  the 
land  held  for  them  in  Burden's  gorge  :  and  they  got 
it,  good  gold-land,  for  half  the  price  which  had  been 
paid  them  for  their  lots  in  Eureka. 

"  We  then  elected  a  town  committee,  printed  circu- 
lars which  we  sent  to  every  post-office  in  the  East, 
opened  three  new  finds  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of 
each  other  ;  and  we  stopped  the  sale  of  liquor. 

"  This  is  what  we  have  done  without  capital  ;  the 
money  to  buy  the  land  and  the  old  mine  was  advanced 
by  a  man  who  made  it  selling  gold-dust  to  the  Eureka 
Mine  ;  he  has  been  selling  them  gold-dust  ever  since 


JERRY.  267 

the  Eureka  Mine  was  first  opened,"  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment, arrested  by  the  intent  look  on  the  doctor's  face; 
"  this  man's  name  is  Daniel  Burk,"  he  added,  while 
the  interest  faded  from  the  doctor's  eyes.  "  For  the 
future  we  need  an  engineer  to  open  the  old  mine, 
which  has  been  closed  for  all  these  years  only  because 
the  people  were  superstitious.  The  original  owner 
disappeared  in  the  mine,  and  the  people  deserted  it. 

"If  we  can  secure  an  engineer,  I  and  others  have 
pledged  ourselves  to  go  with  him  to  the  end  of  the 
tunnel  in  order  to  reassure  the  Burden's  people  ;  the 
new  miners  who  come  in  will  not  heed  the  old  story. 
But  we  need  machinery,  and  a  competent  man  to 
direct  us.  You  have  spent  millions  in  sending  your 
railway  out  to  this  gold  region,  and  already  you  have 
made  millions  from  the  speculation  :  this  is  well,  but 
it  is  better  still  to  know  that  a  little  further  on  there 
are  as  many  more  millions  waiting  for  you  :  extend 
your  railway  to  Burden's,  and  take  stock  in  Burden's 
Mine. 

"  If  you  will  not  help  us,"  and  he  paused  a  moment, 
"  we  can  wait,  and  grow  slowly  :  we  can  save  money 
until  we  have  enough  to  open  the  mine,  without  out- 
side help  :  then  the  tide  of  immigration  will  flow  in  on 
us,  and  we  will  succeed  in  spite  of  all  odds,  and  dictate 
terms  to  Eureka  and  to  you." 

Now  they  applauded  him,  and  he  felt  his  heart  rise 
up  within  him. 

"  For  or  against  Eureka,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have 
nothing  to  say  ;  and  most  unintentionally  was  I  led 
into  making  the  towns  rivals.  I  heard  of  the  railway 
and  I  warned  the  people  against  the  land-sharpers  ; 
I  warned  them,  and  explained  to  them  that  simply 
holding  the  land  they  had  would  bring  them  money  in 
the  end.  I  persuaded  them  that  to  buy  land  as  spec- 
ulation only,  so  depriving  the  poor,  who  were  coming 
out  to  find  room  enough  to  live,  of  all  hope  of  new 
homes,  was  a  sin.  Suddenly,  enough  land  was  secured 
to  make  a  new  town,  and  their  little  lots  seemed  value- 


268  JERRY. 

less  !  It  was  hard,  and  I  did  not  blame  them  that 
they  turned  on  me.  Then  I  had  to  seek  something 
for  them,  and  like  a  revelation  it  came  to  me  to  build 
up  Burden's  again — and  I  will  do  it,"  proudly,  "  for 
when  failure  means  death, — success  will  be  fought  for 
hardly  !  These  people  have  put  all  they  own  in  Dur- 
den's,  and  can  not  hope  to  make  another  venture  if 
this  fails  them. 

"  If  you  will  help  us,  it  will  be  the  best  invest- 
ment you  ever  made  :  if  you  turn  from  us,  we  will 
be  patient." 

Then  he  sat  down  amid  a  clapping  of  hands  and 
words  of  commendation,  and  waited  with  a  sick  heart 
to  hear  what  the  doctor  would  say. 

Would  he  undo  him  ?  Were  there  any  points  kept 
in  abeyance  that  would  pull  down  his  whole  venture  ? 
His  speech  had  not  been  as  good  as  the  words  he  had 
said  to  the  poor  people  out  in  Eureka  :  he  was  not  as 
angry — he  was  not  as  earnest — he  felt  trammeled  and 
bound  ;  the  people  and  the  occasion  seemed  unreal, 
and  the  life  about  him  was  a  sham  !  They  had  enough, 
these  people  ;  and  should  be  compelled,  not  begged, 
to  help  those  who  needed.  Something,  surely,  was 
very  wrong  with  humanity  ! 

"  Mr.  President,  and  gentlemen  of  the  Board,"  the 
doctor  began,  standing  in  his  place,  "  all  that  Mr.  Wil- 
kerson  has  said  is  true,  perfectly  true.  But  all  that  I 
have  written  you  of  the  Eureka  Mine  is  true  also.  That 
Engineer  Mills  has  bought  gold  from  outsiders,  is  no 
wrong  ;  and  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  he  should 
label  each  little  lot.  The  land  that  was  bought  around 
Eureka  is  my  private  affair  ;  and  if  it  fails  I  shall  be 
the  only  loser.  As  to  extending  the  road  to  Burden's, 
I  can  see  no  objections  to  it ;  and  as  I  have  at  heart 
also  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number,  I  hope 
it  will  be  done.  The  work  of  Mr.  Wilkerson  needs 
no  word  from  me;  his  plans  have  been  well  conceived, 
well  executed,  and  surprisingly  successful.  You  can 
not  lose  anything  by  investing  in  Burden's  Mine  ;  nor 


JERR  Y.  269 

will  you  lose  anything  that  you  have  invested  in 
Eureka. 

"  I  have  come  here  at  the  request  of  the  land- 
agents  who  have  invested  in  Eureka.  They  have 
been  very  much  disheartened  by  Mr.  Wilkerson's  suc- 
cess. 

"  They  have  not  capital  enough  to  enable  them  to 
hold  the  land  they  have  bought :  if  they  sell  at  a  loss 
it  will  injure  the  reputation  of  the  town,  and  for  a 
time  the  mining  interests.  I  came  to  advise  for  their 
good,  and  for  your  good,  that  the  company  buy  the 
lots  the  agents  now  hold,  and  hold  them  as  private 
property.  The  two  towns  will  be  one  eventually  and 
their  interests  be  merged  into  each  other  :  one  can  not 
grow  without  helping  the  other  ;  and  for  the  sake  of 
the  money  which  already  you  have  invested  in  Eureka, 
I  strongly  advise  that  the  land  values  be  not  allowed 
to  decline. 

"  I  have  with  me  a  map  of  the  town,  and  of  the  num- 
ber of  lots  that  will  have  to  be  bought  in — also  their 
values.  I  can  vouch  that  no  higher  price  has  been 
put  on  the  lots  than  the  agents  paid  for  them." 

Then  he  sat  down  amid  a  surprised  silence. 

Where  was  the  expected  struggle  between  these 
rival  towns  and  leaders  :  where  was  the  great  excite- 
ment that  had  possessed  the  company  when  they  met: 
where  was  Jerry's  enthusiasm  ! 

He  sat  quite  still  through  it  all  :  listened  while  the 
short,  quiet  sentences  fell  so  coolly  and  calmly  :  felt 
that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself ;  and  discov- 
ered a  slow,  dull  anger  creeping  through  him. 

The  two  towns  to  be  made  one  :  their  interests  to 
be  identified  ;  only  that  Burden's  was  allowed  to  grow 
first  ! 

Where  was  the  opposition  ;  what  could  he  do  ? 
whom  could  he  antagonize?  And  he  had  not  injured 
Paul;  but  only  a  private  venture  of  the  doctor's,  about 
which  he  knew  as  little  now  as  at  the  very  first. 

No  explanation  had  been  made  ;  no  light  had  been 


270  JERRY. 

thrown  on  anything,  save  on  the  one  fact  that  his  at- 
tack on  the  doctor  had  served  only  to  strengthen  Paul's 
fortunes  :  for,  of  course,  it  was  more  safe  that  the 
company  should  own  the  town  of  Eureka,  than  that 
chance  adventurers  should  hold  the  land.  Of  course 
the  company  would  see  that  the  town  succeeded  ;  and 
if  they  extended  the  railway  to  Burden's,  and  put 
their  money  in  the  Burden's  Mine,  there  could  be  but 
the  one  issue  for  the  whole  matter  :  the  towns  would 
be  made  one,  and  their  fortunes  rise  and  fall  together. 
And  from  the  first,  the  doctor  had  intended  this — 
had  foreseen  it. 

He  longed  to  be  alone  ;  he  longed  to  walk  for 
miles  and  miles  ;  maybe  he  so  could  still  this  throb- 
bing anger  that  was  increasing  every  moment  ;  he 
wished  that  the  people  in  front  of  him  had  been 
the  poor  Eureka  mob  that  he  might  abuse  them  ! 

How  had  this  thing  happened  ;  how  had  he  been 
such  a  blind  fool  ? 

All  about  him  there  was  a  hubbub  of  voices  ;  a 
group  gathered  about  the  doctor  ;  a  group  about  Mr. 
Greg,  and  close  packed  about  himself  Jerry  found 
the  mass  of  the  company. 

Congratulating  him — shaking  hands  with  him — 
telling  him  that  his  success  had  brought  Eureka  and 
the  Birectors  to  terms  ;  and  that  now  his  fortune  was 
secure. 

So  it  was  :  and  he  talked  and  laughed,  and  shook 
hands,  and  understood  that  his  point  was  gained, 
although  no  official  action  had  been  taken  as  yet. 

Then  he  and  Fred  found  themselves  outside  in 
the  pitiless  rain  that  still  fell  ;  but  a  liveried  servant 
held  an  umbrella  over  them,  and  the  carriage  waited 
with  open  door. 

The  ladies  were  enchanted,  and  at  lunch  Mr. 
Greg  rubbed  his  fat  white  hands  over  the  morning's 
work. 

"  And  you  can  go  to  the  ball  to-night,  my  boy,"  he 
said,  patting  Jerry  gently  on  the  shoulder,  "  feeling 


JERRY.  271 

yourself  rich  because  of  the  land  you  own  in  Dur- 
den's." 

Rich  because  of  the  land  he  owned  ! 

A  new  and  dreadful  realization  came  to  Jerry — he 
owned  no  land.  Burden's  might  make  millions,  and 
not  one  cent  would  come  to  him  ! 

The  room  and  all  its  beautiful  furniture  seemed  to 
waver  for  a  moment. 

Dan  Burk — Dave  Morris — Charles  Greg, — indeed, 
every  man  in  Durden's  was  secure  in  his  possesions, — 
secure  in  the  protection  of  the  Commune. 

He  only  had  been  left  out. 

Blind  to  everything  except  the  success  of  his  ven- 
ture, and  the  triumph  over  Paul  Henley  and  the  doctor, 
he  had  forgotten  himself  until  now — now  when  all  the 
best  land  had  been  sold,  and  not  one  foot  of  it  his. 

And  even  if  it  were  still  there,  he  had  no  money  to 
buy  it  with.  He  was  spending  money  fast  enough 
now,  but  it  was  Joe's  money,  which  he  had  bargained 
to  spend  that  the  old  man  might  be  persuaded  to 
show  the  safe  way  into  the  mine.  Once  back  in  Dur- 
den's he  would  not  have  a  cent. 

He  dressed  for  the  ball  with  a  heavy  heart  :  how 
could  he  rectify  this  mistake  ? 

He  was  still  more  of  a  lion  in  the  glittering 
assembly  where  he  was  taken  at  the  end  of  the 
exhausting  day  ;  for  besides  the  wit  and  wisdom  he 
had  made  evident,  it  was  said  that  he  possessed  acres 
of  undug  gold  ! 

So  of  course  he  was  courted  and  smiled  on,  and 
Isabel  Greg  was  looked  on  as  the  young  woman  most 
likely  to  capture  the  prize.  Even  beautiful  Edith 
Henley  looked  with  interested  eyes  on  this  "  ruffian  " 
and  "  wretched  ragamuffin  "  of  her  brother's  letters. 
He  was  a  success,  and  surely  looked  like  a  gentleman  ; 
and  the  next  day  she  wrote  Paul  a  letter  that  roused 
every  evil  passion  of  his  nature, — an  innocent  letter, 
save  that  it  was  full  of  Jerry's  success,  and  the  doc- 
tor's compromise  ! 


272  JERRY. 

An'd  under  all  these  admiring  eyes  poor  Jerry  stood, 
longing  for  one  moment's  quiet  where  he  could  col- 
lect his  thoughts,  and  look  his  situation  in  the  face. 
To  betray  his  position  or  his  anxiety  by  word  or 
look  would  be  ruin  ;  for  after  such  an  acknowledg- 
ment who  would  believe  anything  but  that  the  whole 
scheme  was  a  fraud.  It  was  not  usual  for  men  so  to 
leave  themselves  out  of  reckoning  ;  and  these  people 
would  not  believe  him. 

Poor  Jerry  !  he  longed  to  be  back  in  the  wilds 
where  a  man  could  look  as  he  felt,  and  where  every 
man  carried  law  and  redress  in  his  belt.  There  one 
was  free,  here  one  was  bound  by  a  thousand  little 
fetters  that  galled  at  every  turn. 

At  last  his  chance  came  ;  for  a  moment  he  stood 
alone,  and  in  that  moment  he  stepped  through  a 
long  window  near  which  he  stood,  into  a  conserv- 
atory. 

All  about  him  beautiful  flowers,  and  at  great  dis- 
tances the  dim  lights  :  inside  the  throb  and  swell  of 
the  music, — outside,  the  stony  street — the  cold  wind, 
and  the  rain  falling  ceaselessly. 

He  sat  alone  in  a  dark  corner  with  his  face  down 
in  his  hands,  trying  to  still  the  tumult  within  him, — 
saying  over  and  over  to  himself  that  he  must  be 
calm  and  strong,  for  now  a  great  question  lay  before 
him. 

"  The  land  you  own  makes  you  a  rich  man  " — 
these  words  had  never  left  him,  nor  the  knowledge 
that  had  come  with  them — the  knowledge  that  he 
was  as  destitute  now  as  when  Joe  had  picked  him 
up. 

His  head  sank  lower. 

More  destitute  :  then  he  had  been  conscious  of 
cold  and  hunger  only  ;  now  he  was  filled  with  knowl- 
edge, and  knowledge  revealed  a  thousand  wants  that 
served  to  make  his  poverty  infinite.  A  thousand 
wants  that  all  centered  in  money. 

His  thoughts  paused  for  a  moment,  and  a  calm, 


JERRY.  273 

clear  light  seemed  to  shine  within  him.  Let  all  suc- 
ceed ;  let  the  prosperity  and  the  good  he  had  insti- 
tuted live  and  bloom  about  him — live  and  multiply  a 
hundred-fold,  yet  not  touch  him  save  through  the 
peace  within  his  soul  !  Go  back  to  his  old  ideal — 
realize  his  first  high  calling — show  the  world  a  man 
higher  than  these  paltry  ends  of  fortune  ! 

Sink  out  of  men's  minds — go  back  to  nothingness  ? 
And  what  would  the  world  say — "A  wild  dreamer — a 
fool  !  "  Suddenly  he  lifted  his  head,  for  voices  ap- 
proached him,  and  one  voice  was  so  familiar. 

"  Things  have  not  changed,  Judith,"  the  voice  said, 
"  and  you  are  as  far  from  me  now  as  then  ;  for  the 
wrong  I  did  lives  still ;  even  if  within  convent  walls, 
she  lives  and  I  am  not  free," — and  a  little  way  in  front 
of  him  Jerry  saw  the  doctor  standing,  holding  in  his 
hands  the  hands  of  the  woman  whose  face  had  so 
haunted  him. 

"  I  am  not  free,"  the  deep  voice  went  on,  "  and  my 
life  is  now  too  near  its  close  for  me  to  hope  for  free- 
dom, even  if  that  hope  were  righteous." 

"  And  must  your  whole  life  be  one  great  sacrifice, 
Paul  ?  "  and  the  voice  was  so  low  and  sweet  that  Jerry 
listened  to  it  as  he  had  done  to  the  first  music  he  had 
heard,  "  one  long  self-annihilation  ?  " 

"  One  great  expiation,  rather,  even  as  hers  has 
been,"  and  the  doctor  put  the  two  hands  he  held 
together,  folding  his  own  about  them,  "  and  I  must  say 
good-by,  dear,  and  this  good-by  will  mean  forever  !. " 

Then  they  passed  on  ;  and  the  dim  lights  made 
broken  shadows  ;  and  the  flowers  cast  out  their  sweet- 
ness recklessly  ;  and  the  distant  music  rose  and  fell 
for  the  glittering  throng  to  dance  to  ! 

Good-by  forever  ! 

The  young  heart  listened  with  a  dim  sense  of  the 
infinite  sadness  that  lived  in  the  words ;  and  in  the 
music  that  was  meant  to  be  gay — in  that  pulsing,  throb- 
bing waltz  with  a  minor  cry  through  all  its  chords  ! 

This  practical,  money-getting,  soul-crushing  age  ; 


274  JERRY. 

is  this  the  music  it  dances  to  ?  This  proud,  hard 
Nineteenth  Century  that  vaunts  itself  that  it  neither 
fears  nor  loves — that  glories  in  tearing  the  veil  from 
the  "  Holy  of  Holies  "  that  the  mob  might  be  as  free  to 
touch  and  see  as  the  "  Anointed  of  the  Lord  "  !  that 
analyzes  every  throb  of  brain  and  heart ;  that  laughs 
faith  and  hope  to  scorn,  holding  only  certainty  :  that 
shuts  charity  into  hospital  wards :  that  teaches  the 
"  survival  of  the  fittest";  that  tests  prayer  and  crowds 
down  the  weak  and  the  poor  to  death  and  annihilation. 
Hailing  "  labor-saving "  inventions  with  a  shout  of 
triumph,  and  trusting  to  disease  and  death  to  clear 
the  overcrowded  garrets  and  cellars  ! 

Clamoring  and  battling  for  gold  ;  and  legislating 
on  the  crowded  prisons  and  lunatic  asylums  !  This 
great  "  Iron  Age"  that  has  no  heart  save  the  thud  of 
machinery — is  this  the  music  it  dances  to? 

Do  the  eliminated,  foolish  heart  and  soul  find  their 
refuge  here  ?  Sobbing  through  all  the  songs  and 
dances — crying  out  to  the  throb  of  beating  feet ! 

Do  we  hear  the  heart  of  the  Nineteenth  Century 
pulsing  in  its  music — the  saddest  music  the  world  has 
ever  heard  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

"Oh,  Soul! 
To  stand  there  all  alone 

And  without  hope  ! 
To  watch  the  years  come  one  by  one, 
Sad  faces  from  the  old  days  gone — 
Eyes  full  of  memories  pale  and  wan — 

And  hands  that  grope 

About  thy  weary  heartstrings,  without  hope  ! 
Waking  old  chords,  and  long-hushed  cries, 

And  loving  tones — 

And  warning  words,  and  patient  sighs — 
And  pleading  prayers  from  long  dead  eyes 
And  trampled  hopes,  and  broken  ties — 
And  sins  and  joys  that  restless  rise 

With  smothered  groan — 
And  tears  that  weigh  like  lead  !     Aye,  writhe, 
Thou  Soul ! " 

THE  excitement  was  all  over  now,  and  the  reaction 
was  a  most  painful  thing  to  Jerry. 

The  day  before  had  been  one  bewildering  whirl 
of  astonishing  events  :  the  success  of  his  appeal  ;  the 
revelation  of  the  condition  of  Eureka  ;  the  realization 
of  his  own  position  ;  and  at  the  ball  the  little  scene 
that  had  passed  before  him  like  a  dream. 

There  was  a  weariness  over  his  body  and  a  dull 
pain  in  his  head  when  the  daylight  stole  through  the 
window,  finding  him  still  awake  ;  turning  over  and 
over  in  his  mind  the  chances  for  his  future. 

All  was  accomplished  now  that  he  had  come  to 
arrange  :  a  company  had  been  formed  called  "  The 
Burden's  Mining  Company," — the  railway  was  to  be 
extended,  and  a  mining  engineer  and  assayer  to  be 
sent  out. 

All  this  had  been  decided  the  day  before,  and  there 

275 


276  JERRY. 

was  nothing  left  to  do  now,  but  for  Jerry  to  go  home 
and  put  things  in  motion  there. 

For  Burden's  he  had  been  entirely  successful ;  but 
for  himself  what  had  he  done  ? 

He  dressed  very  slowly,  for  he  dreaded  the  time 
when  he  must  appear  as  the  successful  man  ;  and 
longed  to  go  away  and  hide  from  all  whom  he  knew. 
The  rain  was  still  falling,  but  the  scene  within  was 
bright  enough  when  Jerry  entered  the  breakfast-room, 
humming  softly  one  of  the  waltzes  that  had  been 
woven  into  his  thoughts  the  night  before. 

The  table  with  its  shining  silver  and  glass,  and 
delicate  china,  and  flowers  that  made  all  sweet ;  the 
fair  women  ;  the  successful  old  man  reading  his  paper 
by  the  fire.  Jerry  paused  a  moment  to  take  it  all  in  : 
if  he  had  had  such  a  home.  And  yet,  young  Greg 
left  it  all  to  gather  gold  ?  He  must  gather  too  ;  for 
years  he  must  gather,  then  he  could  have  all  these  fair 
possessions  about  him  as  this  old  man  had. 

A  pleasant  "  good-morning  "  greeted  him  as  he  sat 
down  ;  and  a  "  By  the  way,  Wilkerson,"  from  Mr.  Greg 
as  he  laid  his  paper  across  his  knees. 

Jerry  looked  up  quickly. 

"  You  had  better  let  me  take  stock  for  you  to-day 
in  your  mine,"  laughing  ;  "  you  are  bound  to  take  it, 
you  know,  in  order  to  give  us  confidence." 

"  Of  course,"  Jerry  answered,  while  there  flashed 
through  his  mind  the  memory  that  he  had  nothing. 

"  Your  credit  with  me  is  unlimited,"  Mr.  Greg  went 
on,  "  those  were  Mr.  Gilliam's  instructions." 

"  I  know,"  and  the  cup  that  Jerry  took  from  Isa- 
bel's hands  trembled  as  he  put  it  down. 

"  How  much  shall  I  put  you  down  for  ?  " 

The  point-blank  question  was  startling,  and  Jerry 
paused  a  moment  :  it  seemed  hard  that  Joe's  savings 
should  have  to  go  to  buy  shares  in  a  mine  that  for 
more  than  twenty  years  he  had  worked  alone  ! 

"  Of  course  the  stock  is  bound  to  rise,"  Mr.  Greg 
went  on,  "  for  we  can  make  it  rise  :  in  two  weeks  it 


JERRY.  277 

shall  have  doubled  its  value  ;  after  that,  much  will  de- 
pend on  how  you  manage  things  in  Burden's  ;  but 
now — 

"  I  will  take  as  much  as  I  can  get,"  Jerry  said 
quietly. 

"  As  much  as  you  can  carry  ?  "  Mr.  Greg  suggested 
doubtfully. 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  As  much  as  I  can  get,"  he  repeated  with  a  smile  ; 
"  I  know  Durden's,  and  I  should  like  to  own  the  whole 
thing." 

Mr.  Greg  rose  and  stood  before  the  fire,  brushing 
his  hair  back  with  a  quick,  nervous  motion,  while  a 
new  expression  seemed  to  change  and  sharpen  the 
whole  shape  of  his  face. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

Jerry  stirred  his  coffee  quietly. 

"  I  am,"  he  answered,  "  1  know  Durden's." 

Mr.  Greg  walked  the  length  of  the  room  and  back 
again  ;  was  this  young  man  trying  to  play  the  game 
on  the  company  that  the  company  intended  playing 
on  Wall  Street  ? 

"  Do  you  know  how  these  things  are  worked  up  in 
the  market?"  he  asked,  pausing  near  Jerry's  chair. 

"  No,"  Jerry  answered,  while  he  wondered  if  they 
could  hear  the  thumping  of  his  heart,  "  no,  I  know 
nothing  of  such  things  ;  but  I  know  Durden's,  and  I 
know  that  gorge  can  not  be  exhausted  ;  you  can  gather 
gold  for  ever,  and  never  find  the  last,"  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  almost  one  drinks  it  in  the  water,"  and  the  eyes  that 
looked  up  into  Mr.  Greg's  glittered  with  a  new  light — 
and  the  old  man  turned  away. 

"  I  shall  come  out  there  myself,"  Fred  put  in  ;  "  you 
and  Charlie  shall  not  have  it  all  your  own  way." 

Mrs.  Greg  shook  her  head. 

"  One  is  enough  out  there,  Fred,"  she  said  ;  "  put 
your  venture  somewhere  else." 

"  I  shall  make  a  fortune,  and  then  draw  out,"  Fred 
answered. 


278  JERRY. 

"  And  I  shall  stand  to  it  and  make  millions  !  "  and 
there  was  an  exultant  ring  in  Jerry's  voice  that  gave 
Mr.  Greg  more  confidence  in  the  venture  than  the 
visible  gold  would  have  done, — "  I  will  gather  in  piles 
and  piles  of  gold,"  the  young  man  went  on,  while  the 
color  crept  up  his  dark  face,  and  the  light  in  his  eyes 
gleamed  brighter,  "  I  will  pile  it  up  as  I  used  to  pile 
the  chips  when  I  cut  wood,"  the  old  simile  coming 
back  to  him  that  had  been  in  his  mind  when  he  stood 
alone  in  the  midnight  high  up  among  the  rocks — the 
old  simile  that  had  been  with  him  when  the  thirst  for 
gold  first  seized  him, — "  and  if  I  get  so  much  it  will 
not  be  worth  any  more  to  me  than  the  chips,"  he 
added,  with  a  sadder  tone  creeping  into  his  voice.. 

"  Hurrah  for  you  !  "  and  Fred  put  back  his  head 
with  a  hearty  laugh,  "  Mr.  Western  Millionaire  grow- 
ing melancholy  because  he  is  apt  to  have  money  scat- 
tered about  him  like  chips — very  good  !  "  and  he 
laughed  again. 

Jerry  looked  up  slowly. 

"What  will  be  left  for  me  to  do  when  I  have 
enough  ?  "  he  asked. 

Mr.  Greg  shook  his  head  slowly,  folding  up  the 
paper.  "  We  never  get  enough,"  he  said,  "  it  is  a 
want  that  is  never  satisfied  ";  then  to  Jerry,  "Will  you 
come  down  to  the  office  later  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Greg,  by  twelve,"  and  the  door  closed 
on  the  old  man,  grown  more  thoughtful  over  the  Dur- 
den's  venture  ;  and  the  young  people  and  Mrs.  Greg 
were  left  alone. 

"  Remember  the  matinee  at  two,"  Isabel  suggested. 

"  I  will,"  Jerry  answered  slowly,  "  as  it  is  my  last." 

"  Your  last !  "  came  in  three  different  voices. 

Jerry  nodded. 

"  I  must  get  back  now  as  quickly  as  possible,"  he 
said,  "  to  gather  in  all  those  millions  Fred  laughs  at"; — 
they  had  grown  very  friendly  in  the  time  they  had 
been  together,  and  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  saying 
"  Fred  "  and  "  Jerry,"  for  Jerry,  somehow,  seemed  to 


JERRY,  279 

be  one  of  them, — "and  you  must  have  all  your  pack- 
ages for  Charlie  ready  to-day,  for  I  shall  leave  in  the 
morning,"  and  he  walked  to  the  fire. 

"  We  shall  miss  you  so  much,"  Mrs.  Greg  said 
kindly,  while  Isabel  looked  into  her  cup  pensively. 
"  You  have  come  to  seem  like  one  of  my  own  boys," 
she  added. 

"  And  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me,"  Jerry  an- 
swered, coming  and  standing  close  at  her  side,  "  you 
have  shown  me  what  a  home  and  a  mother  can  be." 

And  strangely  across  his  memory  there  drifted  the 
vision  of  a  humble  grave  built  round  with  rails,  and 
covered  in  with  brush  ! 

Then  he  went  down  among  the  crowded  offices  ; 
up  and  down  the  narrow  streets  ;  in  and  out  the  great 
Exchange  where  lives  and  souls  are  brought  and  sold  ; 
in  and  out,  learning  the  way  in  which  great  ventures 
are  put  on  the  market  :  signing  away  hundreds,  and 
running  up  the  value  of  Burden's  even  in  the  mind  of 
Mr.  Greg. 

Then  to  the  luxurious  lunch,  and  glittering  theater, 
where  the  music  throbbed,  and  humanity  imitated  its 
own  sorrows  and  joys  ;  pictured  misery  for  happy 
people  ;  and  made  false  mirth  for  the  weary  and 
heavy-laden.  And  Jerry  listened  as  to  a  dear  voice 

that  he  would  never  hear  again, — it  was  the  last  time  ! 
****** 

And  out  in  the  far-off  blackness  of  Burden's  Mine 
an  old  man  struggled  vainly  almost.  It  was  very 
dark, — "  a  darkness  that  could  be  felt  " — he  had  heard 
that  read  from  the  Bible  once  ;  and  he  put  out  his 
long  arms  vaguely. 

He  was  very  weary  and  weak,  for  his  food  had  given 
out  long  ago  ;  he  did  not  know  how  long  ;  and  his 
light  had  gone  too  !  He  put  his  hand  over  his  face 
as  if  he  needed  more  darkness,  and  a  little  groan  broke 
from  his  lips. 

Had  old  Burden  died  in  this  way  ?  Some  one  had 
said  that  he  had  set  out  to  hunt  for  the  Indian  way 


280  JEKR  Y. 

into  the  cave,  and  never  had  come  back.  Maybe  he 
had  died  just  here,  and  had  not  fallen  into  the  hole  ; 
and  maybe  his  bones,  grown  white  and  dry,  were  close 
beside  him  ! 

A  great  shudder  went  over  the  crouching  form,  and 
the  long  arms  felt  about  on  the  ground  hurriedly  ;  but 
all  was  smooth  and  cold. 

If  he  sat  here  he  would  starve  ;  he  must  go  on  or 
die  ! 

Die  !  die,  shut  up  in  this  black  darkness  without  a 
voice  to  comfort  him,  or  a  hand  to  give  him  strength  ; 
without  a  soul  to  breathe  a  prayer,  or  tell  him  God 
was  good  ! 

He  flung  his  arms  up,  and  clasped  his  toil-worn 
hands  together. 

"  My  God — my  God  !  "  he  cried,  and  the  hoarse, 
deep  voice  rolled  back  and  forth  through  the  black 
rents  and  chasms.  "  Good  God,  cuss  the  damned 
gole — cuss  it, — cuss  it  !  "  and  the  wild  prayer  faded 
away  in  a  faint  whisper. 

Once  more  he  sat  quiet,  with  his  head  down  in  his 
hands.  If  he  sat  still  he  would  starve  ;  he  would 
die  here  in  this  darkness  ;  anything  would  be  better 
than  that  !  And  he  crawled  on  slowly  on  his  hands 
and  knees.  He  was  afraid  to  walk, — afraid  he  would 
step  off  some  awful  chasm,  and  for  days  lie  maimed 
and  dying.  So  he  moved  cautiously,  and  the  move- 
ment gave  him  hope.  Why  should  not  this  long  pas- 
sage, that  seemed  so  endless,  be  that  lost  entrance  to 
the  cave  ? 

It  always  tended  upward  ;  this  was  what  made  him 
so  weary  ;  it  was  always  going  up  and  up  ;  it  had 
not  dipped  for  a  long  time  now,  he  could  not  say  for 
how  long. 

But  he  had  prayed  too  earnestly  ;  God  could  not 
let  him  die  here. 

"  An'  Nan,  her  prayed  fur  me  too,"  he  whispered, 
then  crawled  more  slowly  as  the  thought  came  to  him 
that  it  made  no  difference  that  he  had  hidden  safely 


JERRY.  281 

such  store  of  gold  :  and  again  his  whisper  fell  on  the 
silence,  "  Orl  fur  gole,  an'  it  can't  he'p  me  now,  not 
now — an'  it  can't  he'p  me  when  I'se  dead  an'  gone — 
notter  cent  !  " 

On  and  on  through  the  darkness,  slowly,  painfully. 

"  An'  I'se  done  sent  Jerry  to  larn  to  love  gole  !  oh, 
God,  I  never  knowed — 1  never  knowed  !  "  sobbing  as 
he  crawled,  with  the  penitent  tears  dropping  on  the 
hard,  smooth  floor.  Tears  that  were  too  hopeless  for 
such  old  eyes  to  shed  ! 

On  and  on,  muttering  to  himself ;  praying  aloud  ; 
stopping  to  feel  about  nervously  for  the  bones  of  the 
dead  man  that  he  might  find  anywhere — the  poor  old 
man  who  had  died  for  gold,  as  he  might  die  if  his 
strength  gave  out  before  he  reached  the  end. 

Was  there  any  end  ? 

He  had  heard  the  doctor  say  that  all  through  these 
mountains  there  were  long  caves  and  cracks  that  often 
had  no  openings.  It  was  strange  how  everything  he  had 
ever  known  or  heard  came  back  to  him  now  ;  he  re- 
membered even  things  his  mother  had  told  him  when 
he  was  a  little  boy.  He  remembered  the  first  furrow 
he  ever  plowed,  and  how  across  it  the  sunshine 
slanted  up  the  hillside  to  the  door  where  his  sisters  fed 
the  chickens  ;  and  the  spring  where  all  the  washing 
was  done.  He  could  remember  the  wooden  trough 
his  father  had  placed  there  and  the  gourd  that  was 
always  near.  And  the  tubs  were  blue,  he  remembered 
that  distinctly  ;  and  the  soft  lye-soap  was  kept  always 
in  an  open  gourd.  And  Jim  Mabry  had  given  'Liza 
Jane  a  ring,  and  she  took  it  off  always  before  she 
washed  the  clothes  because  it  turned  her  finger  black. 
Yes,  he  could  remember  it  all  as  if  it  were  yesterday  ; 
remembered  it  as  he  crawled,  and  prayed  for  his  life 
in  the  awful  darkness. 

A  poor  old  man  who  had  nothing  to  show  for  his 
days  save  a  hoard  of  gold  ! 

Poor  little  Nan,  she  used  to  come  there  too,  to  wash 
clothes  at  the  spring  ;  and  had  "  given  her  word  " 


282  JERRY. 

there,  and  Preacher  Rowls  had  married  them — poor 
little  Nan  ! 

And  again  in  the  bitterness  of  his  memories  he  cast 
himself  down  on  the  rocks. 

"  My  God — my  God,  I  never  knowed  !  " 

Would  God  help  him  now  ?  It  had  been  so  long 
since  he  had  prayed.  Yes,  and  he  gathered  himself 
together  once  more,  and  urged  his  much-tried  strength 
to  its  utmost  limits. 

He  was  old,  and  he  was  weary  and  weak  from  hun- 
ger ;  and  an  awful  thirst  burned  in  his  throat.  That 
was  what  made  him  think  of  the  old  spring  and  the 
dry,  brown  gourd.  Ah,  that  was  the  sweetest,  fresh- 
est water  he  had  ever  tasted. 

Oh,  for  only  a  mouthful !  Then  the  awful  memory 
came  to  him  of  the  rich  man  down  in  hell  crying  for  a 
drop  of  water.  He  had  heard  a  preacher  read  that 
once  :  all  his  money  could  not  help  him  then — burn- 
ing up  with  thirst  and  fire,  and  praying  for  one  drop 
of  water. 

Had  many  people  died  for  gold  ?  Judas  ;  yes,  that 
was  the  name  ;  Judas  sold  his  God  for  money  ;  Judas, 
he  remembered  that  now.  He  had  heard  the  doctor 
read  that  once  to  poor  'Lije  Milton  when  he  was  sick; 
and  'Lije  had  died  for  gold  !  'Lije  ?  A  deeper  groan 
broke  from  him,  and  he  cast  himself  down  on  the 
floor. 

"  An'  I  he'pped  to  skeer  'Lije  !  "  he  cried,  beating 
on  the  rocks  with  his  clenched  hands.  "  Oh,  God,  it 
were  the  gole  done  it — the  gole  done  it  !  "  writhing 
in  his  remorse.  "  I  never  knowed  as  it  would  a-killed 
him — I  never  knowed  !  " 

Then  he  lay  quite  still  ;  he  had  thought  of  'Lije  be- 
fore, and  the  thought  had  driven  him  on  and  on  until 
he  had  come  too  far  to  turn  back  ;  and  now,  if  he 
thought  of  him  again,  he  would  be  too  weak  to  go  on; 
he  would  lie  where  he  was  and  die.  And  if  he  died 
in  here  the  doctor  would  give  Jerry  the  paper  that  told 
where  to  find  all  his  money;  and  Jerry  would  take  it 


JERRY.  283 

and  love  it,  and  he  would  not  be  there  to  tell  him  of 
the  awful  curse  that  came  with  the  love  of  gold.  He 
must  get  out  if  he  could,  to  warn  Jerry  ;  and  he  raised 
himself  and  crawled  on. 

Little  Nan  had  said  that  God  did  not  make  gold  ; 
that  the  devil  made  it  and  put  it  in  all  the  cracks  of 
the  earth  to  buy  men's  souls  with  :  and  it  was  true. 
How  many  dug  through  days  and  nights  down  under 
the  earth,  bringing  up  gold,  and  yet  men  never  had 
enough. 

Little  Nan  was  right ;  God  did  not  make  gold. 

Poor  little  Nan  :  but  God  would  help  him,  because 
she  had  prayed  for  him  so  often  :  yes,  God  would  set 
him  free  from  this  black  hole — this  cursed  mine,  that 
had  murdered  all  who  entered  it :  God  would  surely 
set  him  free. 

His  breath  seemed  to  leave  him, — his  lifted  hands 
touched  a  wall  in  front  of  him  ! 

Was  it  so  ?  Had  he  not  turned  in  some  way  and 
touched  the  side  wall  ? 

He  was  afraid  to  feel,  and  make  sure  ;  for  suppose 
the  passage  stopped  here  !  He  could  not  go  back,  he 
had  not  the  strength  ;  besides,  after  he  had  left  the 
cave  a  long  distance  he  had  come  to  a  place  where  the 
way  was  very  narrow,  and  hung  over  a  stream  that 
roared  until  it  confused  him,  and  now  he  was  so  weak 
he  would  fall  in. 

Must  he  feel  all  about  him,  and  find  that  cold  stone 
wall  ?  He  drew  himself  together  and  put  his  face 
down  between  his  knees. 

"  Oh,  God  !  she  were  good — she  were  good,"  he 
pleaded,  "an'  she  prayed  fur  me;  oh,  God!  she 
prayed  fur  me."  What  else  could  he  pray  ?  what  else 
did  he  know  ?  One  had  prayed  for  him  long  ago, 
when  life  was  fresh  and  strong,  and  he  knew  she  was 
good,  and  God  must  have  heard  her  prayers — surely. 

He  put  his  hands  out  cautiously — the  poor,  work- 
hardened  hands  that  had  done  many  kindly  deeds, 
which  the  terrified  heart  did  not  seem  to  remember 


284  JERRY. 

now,  when  in  his  dire  distress  all  his  mistakes  and  sins 
loomed  up  before  him. 

Poor  old  weary,  tremulous  hands  ;  surely  God 
would  set  them  free  ! 

Carefully  he  felt  over  the  wall  on  one  side,  across 
the  low  roof,  down  the  other  side,  then  again  up  to 
the  roof.  He  knew  which  side  he  had  come  from  ; 
he  knew  that  behind  him  stretched  that  endless  black 
passage  ;  but  in  front? 

He  paused  with  his  hands  above  him,  touching  the 
roof — 

"  She  were  good,  God,  and  she  prayed  fur  me,"  he 
said. 

Then  slowly  down  in  front  of  him  he  moved  his 
hands — slowly — slowly — and  the  wall  was  there  !  A 
moment  he  paused — one  moment  when  all  his  life 
seemed  to  rise  and  sweep  before  him  ;  all  his  life,  and 
all  the  faith  he  had  had  that  for  her  sake,  the  one 
creature  who  had  loved  and  prayed  for  him — for  her 
sake  God  would  save  him — her  sake  who  had  been 
good  ! 

All  came  over  him  now,  and  he  was  shut  in  here  to 
die  by  inches — to  die  ! 

"  Oh,  God  !  "  a  long,  wild  cry — a  last  supreme 
appeal  in  his  agony,  and  he  fell  forward  against  the 
wall — the  wail  that  shut  him  in  from  life  and  hope  ! 

The  sinking  sun  shone  clear  and  red,  wrapping  the 
plain  in  a  rose-stained  cloud  of  light,  and  sending 
long  rays  of  gold  up  to  the  highest  peaks,  tinting  and 
glorifying  all  the  scarred,  storm-beaten  mountain- 
side. It  beautified  Eureka,  lying  still  and  white  on 
the  plain,  and  Burden's,  climbing  bravely  up  the 
gorge  ;  and  far  up  among  the  cliffs  it  touched  a  thin 
slab  of  rock  that  had  been  pushed  from  its  place,  and 
in  its  fall  tearing  from  their  hardly-won  homes  all 
the  lichens  and  little  vines  that  had  grown  about 
its  edges.  The  sun  touched  all  this  very  gently, 
making  silver  lights  in  the  gray  hair  of  the  old  man 


JERR  Y.  285 

lying  face  down  across  the  fallen  slab,  with  his  long 
arms  stretched  out  above  his  head. 

Was  he  dead,  lying  there  half  in  and  half  out  the 
black  hole  ;  had  he  died  in  his  search  for  the  way  that 
was  lost  so  long  ago  ?  But  at  last  he  had  found  it : 
high  up  among  the  cliffs  overlooking  the  wide  plains 
and  busy  towns,  overlooking  his  own  little  home,  and 
in  touching  distance,  almost,  of  the  place  where  he 
had  buried  his  little  Nan  ! 

In  a  dip  in  the  rocks  where  the  earth  had  so  gath- 
ered and  deepened  that  even  some  trees  could  grow 
there, — there  she  had  chosen  to  be  buried  ;  and  now 
very  near  the  old  man  was  the  rough  headstone  he 
had  put  up,  with  her  name  clumsily  chipped  on  the 
surface. 

The  sun  touched  that,  too,  and  the  little  shadowy 
pines. 

Had  Joe  made  his  last  find  right  there  by  her 
grave  ? 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

' '  The  past  rolls  forward  on  the  sun 
And  makes  all  night." 

'  *  T  T  AS  the  doctor  come  ?  "  and  young  Greg  looked 
1  anxiously  in  Paul's  face  as  he  opened  the  door 
of  the  doctor's  house  in  answer  to  Greg's 
knock. 

"  Yes,"  and  the  door  was  opened  wide  enough  for 
Greg  to  enter. 

Down  the  long  hall  he  went,  and  into  the  library 
where  the  glowing  fire  was  grateful  aftei  the  keen 
November  winds  that  swept  across  the  plain. 

The  doctor  rose,  holding  out  his  hand  to  Greg. 

"  How  are  you  !  "  he  said  ;  then,  "  I  left  your 
family  quite  well." 

"  Thank  you,"  Greg  answered  ;  "  I  heard  from 
home  to-day  ;  but  it  is  a  greater  satisfaction  to  hear 
of  them  from  one  who  has  seen  them  face  to  face." 

"  Won't  you  stay  and  dine  with  us  ? "  the  doctor 
went  on,  when  they  were  seated. 

Greg  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can  not  this  evening,  thank  you,"  he  said  ;  "  I 
have  come  to  you  on  very  anxious  business — old 
Gilliam" — the  doctor  looked  up  quickly--"  is  in  a  very 
precarious  state,  I  think." 

"  Fever  ? " 

"  No,  nor  can  I  satisfy  myself  at  all  as  to  what  ails 
him,"  Greg  answered,  "  he  was  missing  for  two  or 
three  days  ;  I  know  this,  because  Wilkerson  begged 
me  to  go  up  and  see  him  every  evening,  and  I  did 
until  a  little  while  ago  he  was  missing  for  four  consec- 
utive evenings.  I  felt  uneasy,  but  I  did  not  like  to 

286 


JERR  Y.  287 

make  inquiries,  for  he  is  such  a  peculiar  old  man  ;  so 
I  waited  until  four  days  ago,  when  I  went  up  and 
found  him  in  this  strange  condition.  He  eats  very 
little,  and  refuses  to  leave  his  house,  or  to  give  any 
account  of  his  health.  His  only  admission  is  that  he 
wants  to  see  you,  and  he  wants  Wilkerson.  Can  you 
come  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  and  the  doctor  gave  orders  for  his 
horse.  "  Wilkerson  ought  to  be  here  this  evening," 
he  went  on,  "  for  he  was  to  leave  New  York  twelve 
hours  after  I  did." 

"  That  is  fortunate,"  Greg  said  in  a  relieved  voice, 
"for  the  old  man  will  not  last  much  longer." 

"  Is  it  so  bad  as  that?  "  and  the  doctor  paused  in 
his  preparations  ;  "  you  really  think  the  old  man  is 
going?" 

Greg  nodded,  and  the  doctor  made  more  haste. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  back  to  him,"  he  said 
to  Greg,  "  and  I  will  follow  ;  have  you  brandy  ?  " 

"  Plenty,"  rising ;  "  I  have  kept  him  alive  on  it." 
Then  he  went  away,  and  Paul,  leaning  gloomily  against 
the  mantel-piece,  asked  if  the  doctor  would  be  gone 
all  night. 

"  Probably,"  was  answered  shortly  ;  then  he  gave 
orders  to  a  servant  to  take  a  horse  to  Eureka  for 
Jerry  ;  to  make  a  point  of  meeting  the  wagon  that 
came  in,  and  to  tell  Mr.  Wilkerson  to  make  great  haste. 
Then  he  was  gone  in  the  falling  evening,  gone  as 
swiftly  as  might  be  up  the  lone  trail. 

Was  the  old  man  going  out  on  the  "  lonely  road," 
to-night,  he  wondered  ;  the  old  man  who  was  only  a 
gray-headed  child  ;  the  old  man  who  had  come  to 
seem  a  part  of  the  place,  almost  like  one  of  the  storm- 
battered  rocks,  so  gray  and  quiet  was  he.  He  had 
known  him  so  many  years,  he  would  miss  him. 

It  was  strange  how  things  fell  out  in  this  life  ;  the 
old  man  going  just  when  Jerry,  the  pride  of  his  heart, 
was  beginning  his  career. 

"  And  Jerry  will  be  successful,"  he  said  to  himself, 


zS8  JERR  Y. 

buttoning  his  coat  more  closely  against  the  cold  wind  ; 
"  he  knows  how  to  manage  men  ;  but  he  stands  in  a 
dangerous  place." 

The  lamp  was  burning  brightly,  and  the  fire  was 
flashing  brilliantly  into  every  corner  of  Joe's  house 
when  the  doctor  entered.  The  clock  ticked  busily  : 
the  dog  breathed  heavily  in  his  corner ;  Greg  sat  still 
near  the  fire  ;  and  on  his  bed,  fully  dressed,  old  Joe 
lay  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  hands  crossed  on  his 
breast. 

"  Well,  Joe,"  and  the  doctor  laid  aside  his  coat  and 
hat  as  he  stood  by  the  bed,  then  put  his  slim  white 
hand  on  the  old  man's  hand,  grown  so  thin  and  trem- 
ulous ;  "  how  is  it  you  are  sick  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  aint  sick,  doctor,"  and  the  dim  eyes  opened 
slowly,  "  I'm  jest  called,  I  am." 

"  When,  Joe  ?  "  looking  down  sadly. 

"  It  aint  a-been  long  sence  ;  but  I've  done  sawn  orl 
my  sins,  I  hev,  an'  God's  done  sawn  'em  too,"  panting 
wearily,  "  an'  I'm  jest  a-waitin'  to  see  Jerry  ;  jest 
a-waitin'  fur  thet,  'cause  I've  got  a  word  fur  Jerry, 
I  hev." 

"  Will  you  drink  this  ?  "  and  the  doctor  held  some 
brandy  to  the  white  lips. 

"  I'll  drink  it  fur  youuns,  doctor  ;  but  I  aint  a-goin* 
to  say  nothin'  tell  Jerry  gits  har,"  drinking  slowly; 
"  he's  a-comin',  I  kin  feel  it,  he  aint  fur,"  then  he  lay 
down  again  with  a  long,  tremulous  sigh. 

"  Kin  youuns  read  to  me,  doctor?  "  he  asked  after 
a  little  ;  "  Jerry's  gotter  leetle  Bible  sommers — som- 
mers  roun*  on  the  shelf." 

And  the  doctor  found  it,  the  little  black  Bible  he 
had  given  Jerry  to  teach  him  the  way  to  the  "  Golding 
Gates  " — poor  little  child. 

The  deep  voice  read  on  and  on  ;  the  firelight 
flickered  over  the  rough  walls  ;  the  young  man  sat 
still  and  listening,  and  the  old  man  on  the  bed 
breathed  heavily.  At  last,  far  off,  the  clang  of  a 
horse's  hoof«,  on  the  rocky  path,  and  a  silence  fell  in 


JERRY.  289 

the  house — all  were  listening.  Again  the  sound  came 
sharply  on  the  wind,  and  the  old  man  rose  on  his 
elbow. 

"  It's  Jerry,"  he  said,  "  I  knowed  I  were  a-feelin" 
of  him  ;  I  knowed  he  warn't  much  fur  ;  I  knowed*  as 
I  were  called  fur  to-night,  an'  he'd  come,"  and  the 
deep-set  eyes  lighted  up  strangely  ;  "  gie  me  a  leetle 
dram,  doctor,  'cause  I  hes  sumpen  to  say,"  theft  he 
lay  quiet  again  until  the  doctor  poured  out  the  brandy 
and  raised  him  to  drink  it. 

"  An'  I  reckon  Jerry's  powerful  honggry,"  the 
hoarse  voice  went  on,  "  powerful  honggry,  and  thar's 
bread  thar,  but  thar  aint  nary  time  to  eat  now,  I  mus* 
talk  fust ;  I've  got  sumpen  to  say." 

Nearer  came  the  ringing  of  the  horse's  hoofs,  nearer 
and  nearer  ;  as  fast  as  any  horse  could  come  on  such 
a  night,  up  such  a  path  :  at  last  it  stopped  at  the  door 
that  Greg  held  open,  and  Jerry  stood  among  them. 

"  Lord  !  "  and  Joe  passed  his  hand  slowly  over 
Jerry's  face,  then  down  over  his  shoulder  and  arm — 
"  Jerry,"  he  muttered,  "  leetle  Jerry  a  gentleman, — a 
rale  gentleman,"  then  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  Jerry 
looked  anxiously  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  watchers. 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  ;  and  Jerry  bent  low 
over  his  old  friend,  with  a  dull  pain  growing  up  in  his 
heart  -  how  had  this  happened — had  he  had  anything 
to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  get  sick,  Joe  ?  "    he  asked  softly. 

Joe  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  aint  agoin'  to  tell  you  thet,  Jerry,  ner  no- 
body ;  nobody  aint  agoin'  thar  rjo  mo' — no  mo' — " 
then  he  opened  his  eyes  slowly — "  you  is  got  the 
paper,  doctor  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Joe." 

"  Gie  it  to  Jerry  when  I'm  done  buried  ;  an'  bury 
me  up  yander  by  my  Nancy  Ann — leetle  Nan,  I  calls 
her  ;  thar  aint  no  gole  thar  whar  she's  a-layin';  an'  hev 
it  writ  on  the  stone  as  this  is  Joe  Gilliam's  las'  find — 
hev  it  writ  jest  thet  away  ;  "  then  rousing  up  suddenly 


290  JERRY. 

he  grasped  Jerry's  hands,  his  eyes  burning  brightly, 
and  his  breath  coming  thick  and  fast — "  Thar's  dam- 
nation in  the  gole,  Jerry,  an'  death  in  the  mine ! 
Don't  go  thar — don't  go  thar.  An',  Jerry,  I  done  sent 
yot*  over  yander  to  larn  to  love  money,  an'  to  see  what 
it  could  buy,  an"  to  larn  to  love  it;  but  don't  you  do 
it,  Jerry,  don't,"  with  pitiful  entreaty  in  his  eyes  and 
voice,  "my  soul'll  never  res'  if  you  gits  honggry  fur 
gole;  an'  I  aint  agoin'  to  tell  you  whar  I  got  mine  ; 
I  aint  agoin'  to  tell  !  "  taking  his  hands  from  Jerry's 
and  wringing  them  together  as  he  sat  propped  up 
against  the  doctor's  shoulder,  "  an'  I'm  rale  glad  you 
is  done  gotter  lot  of  folks  in  the  mine  to  shar*  an" 
shar'  alike — I'm  glad,"  his  voice  falling  lower,  "an' 
the  way  is  mighty  easy  to  find  if  you  never  tu'ns 
to  the  lef — never  to  the  lef;  thet's  death — death  !" 
closing  his  eyes. 

The  doctor  put  some  brandy  to  his  lips  and  he 
swallowed  it  with  difficulty. 

"  I  were  honggry  fur  gole,"  he  muttered,  "  honggry  ; 
an'  leetle  Nan  'ud  cry  when  I  were  gone  orl  day — 
pore  leetle  Nan  !  I  sees  her  aheaper  times  a-layin'  thar 
buried  in  the  gole-dust — an'  it's  a-chokin'  her  an'  the 
leetle  'un  !  "  starting  wildly,  "  a-chokin'  her  an'  her 
can't  git  it  out — it's  in  her  eyes,  an'  in  her  mouth — her 
mouth  !  "  struggling,  and  wringing  his  hands,  "  Leetle 
Nan,  I'll  bresh  it  out — bresh  it  out,"  slowly  the  voice 
faded. 

Greg  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  ;  the  doctor 
prayed  with  his  lips  close  to  the  old  man's  ear  ;  and 
Jerry  stood  white  and  still  as  a  stone. 

Slowly  the  death-dimmed  eyes  opened  ;  the  words 
of  the  prayer  had  reached  the  darkened  mind — "  Fur 
Jesus'  sake  ?"  slowly;  "  leetle  Nan  usen  to  say  thet ;  I 
hearn  her  in  the  night  time — "  fur  Jesus'  sake" — then 
he  lay  quite  still  listening  to  the  low  voice.  The 
breath  came  slower  and  slower — the  chest  heaved 
laboriously — the  hard,  brown  hands  twitched  ner- 
vously. One  more  breath — was  it  the  last  ? 


JERRY.  291 

The  old  face  looked  gaunt  and  gray — the  sunken 
eyelids  quivered  ; — again  a  long,  tremulous  breath  ; 
the  eyelids  lifted  slowly,  and  a  whisper  swept  past 
them — 

"  Thar's  death  in  the  mine,  Jerry  ;"  then  all  was 
still. 


PART  THIRD. 

"  Be  not  deceived  ;  God  is  not  mocked  :  for  whatsoever  a  man 
soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap.  For  he  that  soweth  to  his  own 
flesh  shall  of  the  flesh  reap  corruption." 


293 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  Dark,  dark  was  all  !  A  mist, 
A  blinding,  whirling  mist  of  chilly  snow, 
The  falling  and  the  driven  ;  for  the  wind 
Swept  round  and  round  in  clouds  upon  the  earth, 
And  birm'd  the  deathly  drift  aloft  with  moans, 
'Till  all  was  swooning  darkness.     Far  above 
A  voice  was  shrieking  with  a  human  cry  !  " 


wind  was  howling  wildly,  and  the  snow  falling 
in  swirling  sheets,  was  scurrying  across  the  wide 
plain  ;  driving  the  snow  against  the  great  cliffs, 
and  banking,  dangerously  almost,  on  the  frail  new 
houses.  It  had  not  been  falling  for  an  hour,  and  yet 
all  the  land  was  covered.  The  fire  burned  hotly, 
sending  a  vivid  glow  over  Joe's  chair  that  stood  in  its 
accustomed  place,  and  seeming  as  if  it  strove  to  touch 
with  one  little  shaft  of  light  Joe's  pipe  that  lay  in  the 
crack  between  the  logs  where  for  years  he  had  kept 
it.  Buck  slept  in  his  box  ;  the  lamp  shone  brightly, 
and  Jerry,  with  his  arms  crossed  on  the  table,  and  his 
head  bowed  down  on  them,  sat  alone. 

There  was  nothing  to  indicate  that  Joe  might  not 
come  in  at  any  moment  ;  except  that  his  clothes  hung 
long  and  limp  against  the  wall  —  that  his  hat  was  on 
the  peg  behind  the  door,  and  that  his  boots  stood  in 
the  corner  with  some  mud  still  on  them,  and  their  tops 
drooping  over  one  another. 

The  bread  browned  in  the  spider  ;  the  coffee-pot 
steamed  on  the  hearth  —  why  should  not  the  old  man 
come  in  ?  Because  the  door  was  barred  —  or  because 
the  window  was  shut  fast,  blind  and  all  —  was  that  a 
reason  ? 

Lonely  ?  Jerry  had  never  realized  that  such  lone- 
liness could  be  felt. 

295 


296  JERRY. 

Fresh  from  the  whirl  of  gayety  and  excitement  ; 
fresh  from  the  midst  of  luxury  and  praise,  to  this. 
He  raised  his  head  and  looked  about  him  ;  this  was 
all  he  owned  ;  all  he  owned,  for  the  old  man  had  died 
with  the  secret  of  his  "  find  "  kept  close.  Jerry  was 
in  despair  :  he  had  spent  hundreds,  and  had  pledged 
himself  for  far  more  ;  and  now  Joe  was  dead,  and  the 
secret  of  where  he  found  his  gold  was  dead  with  him. 

It  was  not  in  Burden's  Mine  ;  that  appalling  truth 
had  come  home  to  Jerry  in  the  midst  of  that  awful 
death-scene  like  a  merciless  blow.  For  he  had  been 
so  sure  that  Joe  got  his  gold  in  Burden's  Mine,  and 
Ban  Burk,  who  professed  to  know,  had  confirmed  his 
surmises, — and  now  ? 

A  groan  broke  from  his  lips. 

"  Great  God  !  "  he  cried,  "  what  shall  I  do  !  " 

What,  indeed  !  The  next  week  the  engineer  would 
come,  and  the  examination  of  the  mine  begin.  Never 
go  to  the  left,  the  old  man  had  said,  but  had  added 
"  There's  death  in  the  mine  ?  "  Beath.  Beath  was 
nothing  compared  with  failure.  He  would  suffer  a 
thousand  deaths  rather  than  fail. 

What  should  he  do. 

He  turned  his  head  from  side  to  side  to  deaden  the 
dull  pain  that  had  never  left  it  since  that  bewildering 
day  in  the  Board  room  ;  a  heavy,  heavy  pain  that 
would  not  go. 

He  looked  back  all  along  his  course  ;  how  he  had 
been  pushed  and  driven  ;  how  his  present  position 
seemed  to  spring  on  him  full-armed,  and  he  so  unpre- 
pared ;  how  blindly  he  had  gone  into  this  wild  scheme 
that  no  man  with  any  experience  would  have  dreamed 
of  attempting.  It  had  wound  like  a  coil  about  his 
feet, — a  net  spread  so  plainly  that  any  eye  could  see. 
Nothing  but  invincible  ignorance  would  have  dared  so 
much  so  regardless  of  all  consequences.  And  now  the 
consequences  were  on  him,  and  he  was  lost  in  a  mist 
of  despair. 

Would  it  not  be  better  to  put  the  engineer  at  work 


JERRY.  297 

on  the  new  finds  ;  while  he  searched  for  Joe's  place 
of  work  ? 

Again  he  shook  his  weary  head  ;  this  would  lose 
to  him  the  people's  confidence  :  and  a  slow  feeling  of 
resentment  began  to  burn  in  him  against  the  poor 
dead  man.  He  had  not  money  to  live  on  even,  now 
that  Joe  was  gone  :  he  was  afraid  to  ask  Greg  if  Joe 
had  repaid  all  of  Mr.  Greg's  advances  :  he  was  afraid 
to  ask  any  question  ;  to  meet  Dan  Burk  ;  to  look  any 
one  in  the  face  ;  for  what  better  was  he  than  a  pauper 
and  a  fraud  ?  At  last  he  rose  and  shook  himself  ; 
whatever  else  he  might  be,  he  was  surely  a  fool  and  a 
coward.  He  must  not  dream  of  flinching  now,  but 
must  fight  this  thing  through  whatever  the  end  might 
be.  He  must  put  the  engineer  to  work  in  Burden's 
Mine  ;  must  go  in  himself  regardless  of  the  death  that 
was  prophesied  for  him  there. 

He  laughed. 

It  showed  what  an  idiot  he  was  to  remember  even 
an  old  man's  superstitions  :  and  he  tramped  up  and 
down  the  little  house  until  the  floor  shook.  To  mor- 
row he  would  put  on  his  old  clothes  and  move  into 
Durden's  ;  he  was  going  to  live  with  Greg  now,  and 
the  change  and  new  life  would  help  to  rouse  him  from 
this  wretched  weakness  and  despondency  :  he  would 
move  everything  and  shut  up  the  old  house  for 
a  while. 

Up  and  down  he  tramped  until  he  felt  better  ;  well 
enough  to  put  his  supper  on  the  table. 

One  week  ago  he  was  at  that  ball.  He  put  his  cup 
down  ;  he  seemed  to  hear  again  the  minor  chords  of 
the  waltz  that  passed  by  him  when  he  sat  alone  among 
the  flowers,  and  heard  that  last  farewell  !  He  took  up 
his  cup  again,  and  emptied  it  ;  he  would  lose  his  mind 
if  he  allowed  himself  to  brood  in  this  way.  He  must 
eat  his  supper,  and  then  must  read  the  sealed  paper 
the  doctor  had  given  him  that  morning  after  the  fune- 
ral. He  had  put  off  the  reading  hour  after  hour  : 
he  had  said  that  when  he  finished  cooking  his  dinner 


298  JERRY. 

he  would  read  it  ;  then,  when  he  had  finished  eating 
his  dinner — then,  when  he  had  finished  cutting  his 
wood  because  the  storm  was  coming  ;  and  then,  when 
he  had  finished  cooking  his  supper.  Now  all  was 
done  save  the  eating  of  his  supper,  and  he  could  have 
no  further  excuse.  The  paper  was  in  the  inside 
pocket  of  his  coat,  he  could  hear  it  crackling  a  little 
every  time  he  moved  :  he  was  silly  to  put  it  off  any 
longer  ;  he  would  finish  his  supper  and  then  open  it. 

Resolutely  he  set  to  work  and  made  himself  eat  as 
usual  ;  then  he  washed  the  few  things  and  put  them 
away  as  he  had  done  for  so  many  years,  then  sat  down 
by  the  light. 

It  was  a  large,  yellow  envelope,  with  inky  finger- 
marks on  it,  and  a  long  smirch  where  it  had  been 
glued  down.  Jerry  turned  it  over  slowly  ;  no  living 
creature  knew  its  contents  :  this  thought  gave  him  a 
tremulous  feeling  as  if  a  ghostly  company  were  wait- 
ing to  see  him  read  it,  and  to  watch  his  action  !. 

He  looked  over  his  shoulder  hastily,  and  the  clothes 
of  the  dead  man  hanging  limp  and  straight  against 
the  wall,  fluttered  slightly  as  a  more  violent  gust  than 
usual,  struck  the  house.  A  cold  perspiration  broke 
out  on  Jerry's  forehead  !  For  one  moment  he  sat 
quite  still,  then  rose  and  took  the  clothes  down,  putting 
them  on  Joe's  bed.  Of  course  the  wind  had  stirred 
them  ;  the  wind  was  unusually  high. 

Then  once  more  seated  near  the  lamp,  he  took  the 
ugly  envelope  from  the  table,  turned  it  over  once, 
then  tore  it  open. 

Was  there  anything  in  it?" 

Nervously  enough  he  held  it  before  he  looked,  then 
one  little  scrap  of  dirty  white  paper  was  all  he  found, 
and  on  it  in  cramped,  laborious,  printed  letters,  these 
words — 

"  Een  the  dorg  korner— een  the  rafters — een  the 
j'ists — een  the  korners  " —  that  was  all  ! 

Jerry  put  the  paper  down  and  looked  about  him 
bewildered — what  did  it  mean  ? 


JERRY.  299 

The  dog's  corner  ;  that  was  mentioned  first ;  should 
he  go  there  ;  and  if  he  went  what  would  he  find  ?  In 
the  dog's  corner — he  must  look  ! 

He  called  old  Buck  from  out  his  box,  putting  all 
the  remaining  supper  on  the  floor  for  him, — then  pulled 
the  box  away.  Carefully  he  rapped  the  floor, — it  was 
hollow  ;  but  all  the  floor  was  hollow.  He  took  the 
lamp  from  the  table  and  looked  more  closely  ;  all  the 
boards  were  short,  and  were  more  compactly  fitted 
together  :  more  carefully  still  he  looked,  and  in  the 
darkest  part  of  the  corner  he  saw  a  place  worn  almost 
smooth,  and  on  the  edges  of  it  many  finger-marks. 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  then  put  his  fingers  in 
this  place,  and  the  floor  came  up  ! 

Jerry  drew  a  long  breath,  and  dropped  it.  He 
walked  up  and  down  the  floor  once  or  twice  :  was  he 
dreaming,  or  was  he  a  coward  ? 

Once  more  he  approached  the  corner,  once  more 
fitted  his  fingers — it  came  up  readily,  and  looking  he 
saw  that  a  square  of  the  short  boards  turned  on  well- 
greased  wooden  hinges. 

He  had  often  seen  such  hinges,  why  should  they  so 
astonish  him  ?  Then  he  saw  something  else  ;  was  it 
another  floor,  or  a  box  ?  He  ran  his  fingers  over  the 
whole  smooth  surface,  then  carefully  examining,  he 
found  more  finger-marks  ;  he  fitted  his  fingers  to 
them — one  second — then  a  lid  was  lifted  ! 

Had  his  mind  deserted  him  suddenly  ? 

He  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his  eyes  and  brow, 
then  knelt  by  the  open  hole  as  if  turned  to  stone  ! 

Was  any  one  knocking,  or  crying,  or  was  it  the 
wind  ? 

Hastily  he  sprang  up,  shutting  down  both  floors, 
and  putting  the  lamp  on  the  table. 

Buck  was  eating  his  supper  quietly ;  the  wind 
howled  despairingly,  and  he  could  feel  the  snow  bank- 
ing against  the  window.  He  could  feel  it  falling  flake 
by  flake,  he  knew  he  could, — and  some  one  was  walk- 
ing and  wailing  outside  ! 


300  JERR  Y. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands — was  it  Joe?  A 
shudder  ran  over  him — Joe  longing  once  more  to 
count  his  hoard  ! 

With  a  wild  shriek  the  wind  came  down  the  gorge, 
striking  like  a  human  hand  against  the  door  and 
window — Jerry  stood  still,  and  cold,  and  white — it 
came  across  those  lonely  graves :  those  lives  had  been 
sacrificed  for  this  gold  ! 

Greg  had  left  a  flask  of  brandy  on  the  shelf  :  he 
needed  strength  now,  and  he  would  find  it  in  that 
flask. 

He  took  a  tin  cup  and  poured  some  in  it  ;  how 
Fred  Greg  would  scorn  to  drink  from  such  a  vessel ; 
and  yet,  this  was  the  same  brandy  Fred  drank  in  the 
East.  It  looked  like  melted  gold  as  the  light  shone 
through  it :  then  he  tossed  it  off.  He  stood  still  for 
a  moment :  he  was  on  fire — there  were  broken  stars 
before  his  eyes,  and  red-hot  blood  in  his  veins  !  He 
walked  to  the  book-shelf — those  were  his  books,  he 
knew  every  one  of  them — and  there  was  Joe's  ax  in 
the  corner,  and  Buck  lying  full  length  before  the 
fire. 

Nothing  ailed  him,  he  had  taken  only  a  little  brandy 
to  steady  him  after  a  day  of  unusual  excitement ;  he 
had  often  seen  men  take  more  than  he  had  taken. 

Now  he  had  strength  to  open  those  floors  ;  and 
after  that — "  een  the  rafters — een  the  korners — een 
the  j'ists," — he  laughed  aloud. 

Poor  Joe,  he  said  always  "  een  "  for  "  in."  He  felt 
better  now,  quite  strong  and  well,  and  had  been  a 
fool  to  think  he  had  heard  voices,  or  footsteps,  or 
snowflakes  falling — a  perfect  fool  ! 

He  walked  to  the  corner,  he  knew  what  was  there 
now  ;  he  knew  that"  his  reputation  was  saved — his 
name  made  good. 

Eagerly,  greedily  he  lifted  the  two  floors — ah,  those 
little  bags  ;  they  could  hold  only  one  thing — gold  ! 
Gold  dust — gold  nuggets  ? 

Anxiously    he   opened    one, — one,    two,    three  of 


JERRY.  301 

them— five,  ten  of  them — and  a  cry  burst  from  his 
lips  ! 

Gold  money,  firm  and  solid  from  the  mint !  He 
heaped  more  wood  on  the  fire — he  spread  a  blanket 
on  the  floor — a  blood-red  blanket — how  the  gold 
would  sparkle  against  it  ! 

And  then  bag  after  bag  he  emptied  it — how  it 
clinked — how  it  rang — piles  and  piles  of  it  !  He  was 
drunk  with  the  sight,  and  sat  on  the  floor  and  smiled 
at  it,  and  talked  to  it  like  an  idiot ;  then  suddenly 
rising  up  with  arms  outspread  he  cast  himself  upon 
the  glittering  heap  ! 

"  Mine,  all  mine  ! "  he  cried  aloud  ;  a  wild,  sharp 
cry  that  seemed  to  still  the  wail  of  the  wind  as  it 
passed,  and  an  awful  silence  fell  !  Had  he  made  that 
sound  ? 

He  got  up  slowly  :  what  ailed  him,  was  he  mad  ? 
of  course  not ;  but  foolishly  he  had  emptied  many  of 
his  bags  of  gold  :  he  must  fill  them  all  again  and  put 
them  back  ;  that  corner  was  the  safest  place  in  which 
to  keep  them. 

Then  the  words  came  back  to  him — "  een  the  raft- 
ers— een  the  korners — een  the  j'ists — "  he  looked  up  ; 
could  gold  be  hidden  up  there  in  the  rafters?  he  put 
his  hand  up  in  the  lowest  corner  of  the  roof  ;  and 
something  was  there — something  soft  and  round.  He 
paused  a  moment :  should  he  take  it  down  and 
examine  it  now,  or  wait  until  he  had  put  away  all  his 
gold,  and  replaced  Buck's  box.  Poor  dog,  he  waited 
so  patiently,  so  still  and  watchful  near  the  fire.  Per- 
haps he  was  accustomed  to  see  those  little  bags  taken 
out  and  emptied, — emptied  and  counted  over  and 
over  again.  Old  Pete  had  had  those  patient  ways  too. 

Slowly  Jerry  filled  the  little  bags,  packing  them 
tightly; — had  he  done  it  too  securely?  He  looked 
about  him  bewildered;  he  must  have,  for  there  was  no 
gold  to  fill  the  last  bag  which  he  held  in  his  hands. 
He  passed  his  hand  slowly  over  his  forehead  and  eyes — 
had  an  unseen  hand  filched  any  from  htm  ? 


302  JKRR  Y. 

Out  again,  hurriedly,  eagerly,  came  all  the  little 
bags;  how  many  pieces  had  there  been  in  each  ? 
Many  of  them  he  had  not  touched  as  yet;  he  would 
count  the  pieces  in  these,  and  fill  the  others  with  the 
same  number  of  coins. 

Bag  after  bag  was  carefully  set  apart  on  the  floor; 
the  unopened  ones  opened  and  counted,  and  the  rest 
filled  accordingly,  and  enough  was  left  for  the  last 
bag — none  had  been  taken. 

Then  he  put  them  back;  shut  down  the  floors; 
drew  the  box  into  its  place,  and  watched  as  without 
any  command  the  great  dog  stepped  into  his  resting- 
place. 

While  he  had  been  dreaming  of  the  equal  distribu- 
tion of  land  and  money,  and  making  maudlin  speeches 
about  the  inalienable  rights  of  humanity,  old  Joe  was 
gathering,  and  old  Buck  was  guarding  ! 

Humanity  had  no  inalienable  rights — had  no  right 
to  anything  save  what  he  could  get  and  hold  by  his 
own  strength.  Buck  and  Joe  had  been  wise — had 
gathered  and  saved  the  one  thing  that  would  make 
these  ignorant  hordes  respect  him,  and  stand  back  from 
crowding  him  down;  the  one  thing  that  would  give 
him  power  in  the  world. 

He  laughed  a  little,  then  stood  still  in  front  of  the 
fire  trying  to  calm  his  excitement,  and  decide  what  he 
would  do.  Should  he  hunt  for  and  examine  his  treas- 
ure now,  or  wait  until  daylight  ? 

For  a  moment  he  wavered;  he  might  lose  some  in 
the  night;  but  in  the  daylight  Greg  might  come  upon 
him  at  any  hour — he  was  more  secure  now. 

He  again  took  up  the  blurred,  rudely  written  paper; 
"een  the  rafters — een  the  korners — een  the  j'ists" — 
he  would  have  to  tear  the  house  down  !  Had  the  old 
man  designed  this  so  that  no  one  should  have  the 
house  he  built  so  long  ago  for  his  little  Nan  ?  But 
now  he  must  look. 

The  rafters  were  rough  logs  with  the  bark  still  on 
them,  and  ran  the  length  of  the  house;  nor  were  they 


JERR  Y.  3°3 

very  far  apart,  for  the  clapboards  that  stood  for 
shingles  were  nailed  to  them  without  any  intervening 
sheeting.  Jerry  was  tall,  and  the  house  was  low;  he 
could  reach  up  arid  touch  every  rafter  except  the  three 
in  the  peak  of  the  house,  and  these  he  could  reach  by 
standing  on  a  chair. 

He  took  it  all  in;  almost  he  could  see  Joe's  long 
arms  reaching  up,  and  his  bony  hands  fumbling  about 
the  rough  bark;  and  now  he  could  understand  why  he 
was  not  allowed  to  whitewash  the  inside  of  the  house, 
nor  to  move  Buck's  box.  What  a  blind  fool  he  had 
been!  If  he  had  had  any  sense  he  could  have  read  the 
secret  of  Joe's  life  long  ago,  and  the  mystery  that  kept 
him  aloof  from  his  fellows;  it  was  all  clear  to  him 
now — so  clear  that  the  only  wonder  was  that  he  had 
not  seen  it  sooner. 

Now  he  went  back  to  the  place  where  he  had  put 
up  his  hand,  and  had  felt  the  soft  little  bundle  he  had 
been  afraid  to  take  down.  He  went  back  now  and 
lifted  his  slim,  nervous  hand  that  trembled  foolishly; 
it  was  there,  he  had  not  been  mistaken,  and  he  brought 
it  to  the  light  eagerly.  A  little  roll  about  the  size  and 
shape  of  his  finger,  and  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  leather 
that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  cut  from  the  top  of  an 
old  boot,  and  tied  round  with  a  leather  string. 

He  sat  down  by  the  table,  he  was  so  nervous,  and 
untied  it — slowly  it  unrolled  before  him,  an  orderly 
pile  of  bank-bills  ! 

One  hour  ago  he  had  looked  on  himself  as  a  ruined 
man — a  pauper — a  fraud  !  Now,  who  could  say  how 
much  he  owned  ? 

He  got  up  and  poured  more  brandy  into  the  cup, 
but  before  he  drank  it  he  wound  up  the  clock;  this 
task  would  take  hours,  and  he  must  know  when  to 
look  for  interruptions.  An  intense,  excited  quiet 
seemed  to  have  fallen  on  him  now:  he  must  work 
steadily  and  systematically;  he  must  know  exactly 
when  he  began  his  search,  and  carry  it  on  quietly  from 
that  point.  He  marked  the  place,  then  went  regularly 


3°4  JERRY. 

on,  putting  all  he  found  on  the  table.  Strange  little 
rolls  wrapped  in  scraps  of  leather,  or  in  pieces  of  the 
skin  of  animals,  or  in  squares  of  felt  that  looked  like 
the  remains  of  old  hats,  and  all  of  them  carefully  tied. 
Some  were  hard,  as  if  they  were  rolls  of  gold  or  silver, 
and  some  were  soft  as  the  first  bundle  had  been. 
Carefully,  slowly  up  and  down  the  long  rafters  he  felt 
his  way;  up  and  down  all  the  higher  ones,  filling  his 
pockets  that  he  might  not  have  to  move  too  often. 

How  careful  and  ingenious  the  old  man  had  been  in 
hiding  his  treasure!  no  one  could  possibly  have  found 
it  without  some  clue.  Then  he  emptied  his  pockets 
on  the  table;  what  a  pile  it  made!  and  how  should  he 
store  it  away  ?  One  or  two  of  the  little  packages  he 
had  found  stuffed  in  between  the  clapboards, — how 
many  more  might  be  there  he  did  not  know;  but  he 
would  find  out, — find  out  if  he  had  to  pull  the  house 
down  piece  by  piece  ! 

Carefully  he  went  over  it  all  again,  very  carefully  ; 
he  must  not  miss  one  inch  of  that  roof.  He  was  not 
trembling  now,  but  he  was  cold,  cold  as  death  !  He 
piled  more  wood  on  the  fire  ;  the  blaze  mounted  up 
higher  and  higher — the  room  was  in  a  glow.  Then  he 
looked  about  him  ;  there  was  his  trunk  he  had  bought 
while  he  was  gone,  and  his  valise.  Not  in  the  valise, 
but  in  the  trunk  that  had  a  false  bottom  that  opened 
with  a  secret  spring.  A  new  invention  the  man  had 
told'him  ;  he  would  put  all  his  money  there  ;  the  bills 
would  not  rattle,  and  would  lie  flat ;  and  he  could  put 
the  extra  covering  on  the  rolls  of  coin  to  stop  any 
possible  sound. 

In  a  moment  the  trunk  was  open,  and  all  his  clothes 
out  on  the  floor,  all  his  fine  new  things  that  had  cost  so 
much  money,  and  been  put  on  with  so  much  pride  and 
pleasure  ;  what  did  they  matter  now — what  did  any- 
thing matter  !  Down,  down  to  the  bottom,  down  into 
the  false  tray  that  was  so  deftly  concealed  ;  one  touch 
and  it  flew  open.  Only  one  thing  was  there — one 
small  bundle  tied  up  in  old  newspaper.  Jerry 


JERRY.  3°5 

stopped  ;  his  hands  fell  at  his  side,  and  the  light 
died  out  of  his  eyes.  "  Mammy — mammy  ! "  he 
whispered. 

What  came  to  him  that  he  looked  all  about  him  ; 
stood  up,  and  turned,  and  looked  about  as  if  listen- 
ing ;  what  did  he  see  or  hear  ? 

He  turned  the  soiled,  crumpled  bundle  over  and 
over  in  his  hands.  The  same  old  paper  he  had  put 
about  it  as  a  child — the  same  old  paper  he  had  left 
there  because  he  had  not  known  that  it  was  wretched 
and  dirty — and  that  later  he  had  left  because  of  a 
nameless  pathos  that  appealed  to  him  from  every 
smirch,  and  every  wrinkle  !  Now  it  came  to  him  like 
a  voice  or  a  touch  from  another  world  ;  his  life  was 
cut  in  two,  and  that  other  life  he  had  lived  had  died 
and  been  buried  long  ago. 

He  was  another  person  :  he  could  not  be  that  wild 
dreamer  who  had  thought  to  equalize  all  the  posses- 
sions of  the  earth  ;  who  would  now  have  had  him 
give  a  roll  or  a  bag  to  every  person  in  the  town  ; 
How  strange  he  had  been  !  no  wonder  Joe  had 
laughed  at  him. 

And  this  little  bundle  that,  for  all  his  life  until  now, 
had  been  his  only  possession  :  poor  little  bundle,  the 
only  inheritance  of  his  life. 

He  turned  to  look  at  the  table  where  his  treasure 
lay  in  piles  and  heaps — now  !  He  thrust  the  bundle 
far  back  in  the  bottom  of  his  trunk — far  back  in  a 
hidden  corner  :  the  night  was  going  and  he  must 
work.  Hurriedly  he  began  to  drag  the  trunk  across 
the  floor  ;  midway  he  stopped  and  lifted  it ;  it  might 
jar  some  of  the  little  bundles  from  their  resting-places 
in  the  joists  ;  and  he  put  it  down  very  carefully  near 
the  table,  and  began  to  pack.  All  the  bundles  of 
bills  he  smoothed  out  evenly,  laying  them  in  exact 
piles  in  the  false  tray;  then  the  rolls  he  covered  more 
securely,  putting  them  in  even  rows,  and  there  was  a 
great  space  left. 

"  Een  the  korners,"  the  paper  had  said.     He  took 


3°6  JERR  Y. 

the  lamp,  and  moving  his  cot  looked  carefully  on  the 
floor  in  the  corner,  while  visions  of  another  double 
floor,  as  in  the  dog's  corner,  flashed  across  his  mind. 

But  carefully  as  he  looked,  there  were  no  marks  ; 
he  tapped  the  floor,  he  tried  the  boards,  but  with  no 
success,  and  a  feverish  impatience  began  to  pervade 
him  :  what  had  Joe  meant  "  Een  the  korners  "  ? 

He  lifted  the  lamp  and  looked  up  and  down  where 
the  logs  crossed  each  other — ah — !  In  each  joint 
there  was  a  crack,  an  innocent  natural  crevice,  but 
they  meant  much  to  Jerry.  There  they  were,  little 
rolls  and  bundles  hidden  away,  pushed  in  carefully 
and  systematically,  hidden  entirely.  Slowly  but 
surely  he  pulled  them  all  out  ;  one  after  another  with 
an  absorbed,  intense  expression  on  his  face,  and  a 
burning  light  in  his  eyes.  One  after  another  they 
came  out  ;  how  many  more  were  there,  and  how  many 
more  in  the  other  corners  ?  How  much  would  he 
have  when  he  gathered  it  all  together,  how  much  ; 
and  would  he  ever  find  time  and  place  to  count  it  ? 

Each  corner  yielded  up  its  treasure,  and  he  put  it 
away  as  he  had  done  the  rest,  then  paused  and  looked 
about  him. 

He  was  very  weary,  and  the  night  was  nearly  done  ; 
should  he  put  away  everything  and  rest  until  the  day 
came,  or  should  he  search  further.  He  was  very 
weary,  and  his  head  felt  strangely  heavy  ;  was  it  the 
brandy,  or  the  pain  that  had  worried  him  for  so  long, 
turned  to  heaviness  ?  It  was  something  he  had  never 
felt  before,  and  he  must  rest. 

It  would  not  do  for  him  to  be  ill  and  all  this  money 
about  ;  no,  he  must  put  the  house  in  order,  and  rest  ; 
perhaps  a  little  sleep  would  send  the  feeling  away. 

Slowly  and  heavily  he  moved  about,  shutting  down 
the  secret  tray,  putting  his  clothes  back  as  they  had 
been,  and  carefully  rolling  the  trunk  against  the  wall. 
The  fire ;  yes,  he  must  make  that  safe,  it  would 
uever  do  to  let  there  be  any  danger  of  that  kind, 
•vith  all  this  money  about.  How  reckless  he  had  been 


JERRY.  3°7 

all  these  years,  not  knowing  the  wealth  hidden  all 
about  him  ! 

But  now  he  was  very  weary  ;  he  must  rest  ;  but  he 
would  not  put  the  light  out, — a  light  would  be  a  safety 
to  the  house  ;  seeing  it  thieves  would  think  him 
awake,  and  be  afraid  to  break  in.  But  yet  the  light 
might  guide  some  wanderer  there,  some  traveler  lost 
on  the  trail  ;  so  he  must  turn  it  very  low,  for  it  would 
not  be  safe  to  take  strangers  in  with  so  much  money 
about. 

He  must  be  careful  now,  very  careful,  for  no  one 
must  know  of  his  wealth  ;  no  one  must  know.  Nor 
must  he  undress,  that  would  not  be  safe  ;  and  the  old 
rifle  must  be  loaded  and  cocked  by  his  bedside  ;  that 
was  what  Joe  always  did ;  Joe,  who  was  so  clever  to 
gather  and  to  hide  ! 

He  felt  better  lying  down  :  but  had  he  left  any  of 
the  little  rolls  in  his  pockets  that  he  could  not  lie 
easy  ?  And  he  felt  about  him  on  the  bed  and  in  his 
pockets  ;  no,  they  were  all  safe  in  the  trunk  ;  unless 
he  had  dropped  some  on  the  floor.  He  did  not  re- 
member hearing  any  of  them  fall,  and  yet  they  might 
have  ;  would  it  not  be  better  to  get  up  and  look  ? 

Only  he  was  so  weary  ;  let  him  rest  a  little  while 
longer,  then  he  would  look  ;  yes,  he  would  look,  for 
perhaps  he  had  left  some  on  the  table,  and  that  would 
betray  him  to  Greg. 

Was  Greg  there  in  the  room — had  he  come  softly 
over  the  snow  from  Durden's  ? 

He  must  get  up  ;  he  must !  If  Greg  found  it  out 
everybody  would  know,  and  they  would  force  him  to 
share  it  out — never — never  ! 

He  must  hide  it :  he  must  send  it  to  old  Mr.  Greg 
to  buy  shares,  and  make  into  millions  and  millions  ; 
until  it  would  be  scattered  about  him  like  chips  around 
the  woodpile — yes,  like  chips  ! 

And  so  he  tossed  and  dreamed,  half  asleep — half 
awake — while  the  night  waned,  and  the  wild  wind 
blew  the  snow-clouds  away  and  let  the  morning  stars 


3°S  JERR  Y. 

shine  and  glitter,  and  the  moon  turn  all  the  snow- 
covered  world  to  silver. 

Clear  and  crisp,  and  cruelly  cold  when  the  red 
sun  rose  and  shone  on  the  work  of  the  busy  snow 
clouds,  and  stole  under  Jerry's  doorway,  following  a 
little  drift  of  snow  that  had  driven  in,  and  lay  across 
the  floor  a  beautiful,  unheeded  stream  of  gold;  stole  in 
to  show  that  a  new  day  had  broken  over  the  land,  and 
a  new  time  and  chance  wherein  man  might  begin  his 
life  afresh. 

A  beautiful  new  day  ;  a  resurrection  from  the 
death  of  sleep  ;  a  clearing  of  the  soul  from  troubled 
visions  that  once  more  it  might  look  up  to  God's  glad 
light  and  turn  away  from  sin  and  darkness  ;  one  more 
gift  of  time  and  opportunity  sweeping  in  a  golden  flood 
before  each  life  ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Howbeit  all  is  not  lost : 

The  warm  noon  ends  in  frost  ; 
The  worldly  tongues  of  promise, 
Like  sheep-bells,  die  off  from  us 
On  the  desert  hills  cloud-crossed  !  " 

IT  was  late  when  Jerry  roused  from  his  restless 
dreams,  and  he  wondered  vaguely  what  had  come 

to  him,  and  if  he  had  slept  at  all.  The  fire  had 
smoldered  into  a  gray  heap  ;  the  sun  shone  under 
the  door,  and  old  Buck  lay  with  his  nose  up  on  the 
edge  of  the  box  blinking  at  the  unaccustomed  dark- 
ness at  this  hour. 

Jerry  sat  up  and  looked  about  him  :  it  surely  had 
been  a  black,  wild,  snowy  night  when  he  lay  down, 
and  now  the  sun  was  shining. 

He  got  up  slowly,  staggering  a  little  just  at  first, 
and  his  head  was  very  heavy  ;  that  was  the  brandy, — 
yes,  he  had  taken  some  brandy.  Then  slowly  across  his 
memory  came  all  the  scene  of  the  night  before  ;  and 
he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands — could  it  be  true 
possibly  ? 

He  walked  to  the  window  and  pushed  open  both 
sash  and  blind,  and  the  sight  of  the  whitened  world 
reassured  him  that  he  had  not  lost  his  mind.  But  it 
was  cold,  bitterly  cold. 

Quickly  he  made  the  fire  and  put  on  the  kettle  ; 
now  he  would  go  out  to  the  bathing  pool  and  put  his 
head  under  the  spout  of  the  spring, —  that  would  clear 
his  brain  so  that  he  could  think. 

The  fire  burned  brightly,  and  Buck  came  out  of  his 
box  to  sit  near  it ;  things  were  beginning  to  look 
more  natural. 

309 


310  JERRY. 

Jerry  took  out  a  suit  of  the  rough  clothes  he  had 
worn  always,  and  that  Joe  had  put  away  for  him  in 
the  old  wooden  chest :  he  would  put  them  on  when  he 
came  back  from  the  spring,  and  things  would  seem 
more  real. 

Once  out  in  the  crisp  cold  air  he  started  at  a  full 
run  up  the  little  snow-covered  path  :  he  used  always 
to  run  on  cold  days,  and  somehow  he  had  a  wish  now 
to  do  as  he  had  done  always  ;  he  wanted  to  take  a 
fresh  hold  on  the  old  life  that  had  been  so  real  and  so 
happy  !  Yes,  it  had  been  happy,  but  he  had  not  real- 
ized it  at  the  time  ;  this  new  life,  into  which  he  had 
stepped  so  suddenly,  seemed  like  some  strange  dream 
from  which  he  must  soon  be  roused  ;  he  seemed  to  be 
able  to  stand  off  and  look  at  himself  as  if  he  were  some 
other  person.  He  could  see  himself  smiling,  and  talk- 
ing, and  bowing  in  the  beautiful  rooms  that  were  full 
of  light  and  music  and  lovely  women  :  he  could  see 
himself  down  among  the  busy  offices  with  his  face 
grown  keen  and  sharp  after  gam  :  he  could  see  him- 
self mad  with  joy  over  his  heap  of  gold  !  And  the  per- 
son who  looked  was  a  grave  young  man,  with  rather 
a  sad  face,  who  trudged  back  and  forth  to  the  humble 
schoolhouse  in  Eureka  ;  a  sad  young  man  with  a 
heart  all  wounded  and  embittered  by  the  love  cast 
back  on  it. 

Ah,  that  had  been  the  turning-point  !  If  only  the 
doctor  had  not  cast  him  off. 

The  thought  was  bitter  to  him  still,  and  hastily  he 
pushed  his  head  under  the  rough  spout.  The  little 
icicles  hanging  on  the  side  broke  and  fell  clinking 
down  with  a  sharp  rattle  ;  he  laughed  a  happy  little 
laugh,  the  sound  took  him  back  so  entirely  into  the 
old  days.  And  the  water  was  so  cold,  his  head  felt 
clear  and  sound  in  a  moment. 

Now  he  could  go  back  and  cook  his  breakfast  and 
make  his  plans  in  a  cool,  sensible  way. 

He  rubbed  his  hair  round  and  round  with  a  rough 
towel  ;  Joe  had  made  him  do  it  in  this  way  always, 


JERRY.  3H 

and  he  was  finding  Joe  to  be  a  very  wise  old  man  in 
many  ways. 

And  they  had  been  happy  together  in  all  those  long, 
quiet  years  that  were  gone — they  had  been  very  happy. 
And  the  study  under  the  doctor  had  been  so  pleasant 
and  good,  and  he  had  found  when  he  went  out  into 
the  world  that  he  knew  more  than  most  of  the  young 
men  ;  nor  had  their  ways  and  manners  been  strange 
to  him.  Yes,  his  life  had  been  happy  ;  picking  his 
way  slowly  back  to  the  house  ;  but  there  was  no  reason 
why  this  new  life  should  not  be  happy  also — why  not? 
He  took  off. his  "  city  clothes  "  and  put  on  the  rough 
suit  that  seemed  so  much  more  real  and  substantial ; 
and  made  up  the  bread  for  his  breakfast,  and  the 
coffee,  and  sliced  the  bacon  that  he  would  fry  when 
the  bread  was  nearly  done.  It  was  all  so  much  as 
usual  that  he  felt  quite  sure  Joe  was  at  the  spring  and 
would  come  in  soon. 

Busily  he  swept  the  floor,  stepping  softly  lest  he 
should  jar  some  of  the  little  bundles  out  of  the  joists  ; 
but  when  he  remembered  all  the  years  that  he  had 
been  coming  in  and  out,  and  Joe,  stamping  heavily, 
he  thought  there  could  be  no  such  danger. 

Then  looking  up,  his  eyes  fell  on  the  little  flask  ; 
that  was  what  had  made  him  so  wild  the  night  before  ; 
so  miserable  this  morning,  and  it  should  not  stand 
there  to  tempt  him,  he  would  pour  it  out — Greg  had 
plenty  more.  It  made  a  little  hole  in  the  snow  as  he 
poured  it — a  little  round  hole  like  a  bullet,  and  the 
smell  sickened  him — bringing  back  the  horror  of  the 
night.  He  put  the  empty  flask  back  on  the  shelf, 
and  arranged  the  table  for  his  breakfast :  it  was 
better  to  do  things  with  the  usual  regularity,  it 
would  help  to  calm  him  from  the  excitement  of 
the  past  week,  and  allow  him  to  think  quietly  of  his 
future. 

He  would  send  his  trunk  down  to  Greg's,  and  what- 
ever else  they  would  need  out  of  the  house  ;  and  Joe's 
clothes  and  tools  he  would  give  to  some  poor  emi- 


312  JERRY. 

grant — there  were  plenty  of  them  who  would  be  glad 
to  get  these  things. 

His  books  he  would  pack  in  the  old  chest,  and  take 
them  with  him  too  :  he  paused,  and  a  sudden  thought 
came  to  him  that  made  him  turn  and  look  at  the  chest. 
Surely  it  would  hold  all  his  books  even  with  a  false 
bottom  put  in,  and  his  gold  bags  packed  between. 
And  books  were  heavy,  so  that  the  weight  of  the  chest 
would  not  be  noticed,  and  he  would  pack  the  gold  so 
as  not  to  rattle  ;  this  was  a  good  plan,  and  he  felt 
relieved. 

As  to  the  house  ;  and  he  paused  again  in  his  slow 
eating  to  look  up  at  the  roof — it  would  have  to  come 
down,  and  what  excuse  could  he  give  for  taking  it 
down  himself  ?  This  thought  worried  him  ;  he  could 
not  say  it  was  from  love  to  Joe,  affectionate  recollec- 
tion of  the  old  man  who  had  been  all  to  him.  A  real 
pain — an  acute,  accusing  pain  for  the  poor  old  man, 
crept  into  his  heart.  Until  now,  no  thought  of  love 
or  of  mourning  had  come  to  him  ;  it  had  been  painful, 
and  he  had  missed  Joe,  but  that  had  been  all. 

And  he  hated  himself  for  the  coldness  of  his  heart. 

No,  he  could  not  claim  love  as  a  motive  for  pulling 
down  the  house  himself  ;  he  could  not  use  the  kind 
old  man's  memory  in  this  way.  He  would  pull  down 
the  house  and  say  nothing  about  it,  and  when  it  was 
all  down  he  would  move  it  into  the  town,  it  would 
make  a  good  house  for  somebody.  This  was  the  best 
plan,  and  surely  it  was  nobody's  business. 

The  dog  was  fed,  the  things  put  away,  then  he  went 
to  the  bottom  of  his  trunk  once  more  ;  all  was  safe, 
and  he  put  his  clothes  back  more  carefully,  and  on 
top  he  put  the  rest  of  his  coarse  clothes  :  it  would  be 
best  to  dress  as  he  had  always  dressed,  and  to  live  as 
he  had  always  lived,  for  too  much  public  money  passed 
through  his  hands  for  it  to  be  safe  for  him  to  change 
in  any  way. 

And  not  even  Greg  must  know  of  the  extent  of  his 
fortune,  for  no  one  would  be  loath  to  suspect  him  of 


JERRY.  3*3 

knowing  Joe's  "  find,"  and  of  concealing  the  knowl- 
edge in  order  to  reap  all  the  advantage. 

Now  he  must  prepare  the  chest ;  and  the  lid  from 
the  second  floor  in  the  corner  would  make  an  excel- 
lent false  bottom,  for  it  was  thin  and  light. 

The  tools  were  all  there,  and  he  knew  pretty  well 
how  to  use  them  ;  it  would  not  take  him  long  ;  then 
he  must  go  down  and  see  Greg. 

Quickly  the  hours  slipped  by,  so  busy  was  he,  but 
all  the  little  bags  were  safely  stowed  away,  with  space 
left  for  what  he  might  find  in  the  joists. 

And  gradually,  as  he  worked,  the  absorbing  thought 
of  his  future  took  hold  of  him  again  ;  in  the  morning 
the  reaction  from  the  troubles  of  the  night  had  made 
him  long  to  go  back  to  the  wholesome  old  times  ;  but 
as  the  hours  went  on,  and  he  realized  for  what  he  was 
preparing,  the  same  excitement  crept  again  into  his 
veins. 

So  soon  as  these  minor  matters  were  made  safe,  he 
would  map  out  his  future  course,  and  pursue  it  stead- 
ily to  the  end. 

Burden's  should  succeed — Burden's  should  swallow 
up  Eureka — Burden's  should  be  the  creature  of  his 
hand,  and  call  him  master  as  long  as  life  pulsed  in  his 
veins.  Only  wait  a  little  while — only  be  patient, — and 
soon  all  the  world  should  see  what  he  could  do 
and  be. 

He  cooked  his  dinner  and  ate  it,  then  locked  the 
chest,  and  the  trunk,  and  the  house,  and  set  off  down 
the  trail  toward  Burden's.  He  must  see  Greg,  for 
it  had  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  better  to  put 
up  another  room  in  addition  to  the  two  which  Greg 
had  already  ;  it  would  be  much  more  convenient  for 
them  to  have  such  a  place,  and  there  was  lumber  to 
be  bought  in  Eureka  and  plenty  of  men  anxious  for 
the  work. 

Certainly  it  would  be  best,  for  things  had  changed, 
and  they  could  not  now  have  all  affairs  in  common. 

To-morrow  the  Town  Committee  would  meet,  and 


314  JERRY. 

the  sub-committee  make  a  report ;  after  that  he  would 
have  to  report,  and  he  must  make  out  his  papers  to- 
night, and  the  feeling  of  a  pressure  of  work  seemed  to 
lighten  his  heart  and  his  step. 

He  had  risked  a  great  deal  in  giving  his  notes  to 
Mr.  Greg  for  such  large  amounts — had  done  wrong, 
perhaps,  but  it  had  been  Joe's  fault — Joe  had  given 
him  unlimited  credit.  Then  again  there  came  into 
his  mind  the  question  of  the  motive  that  had  insti- 
gated Joe's  course.  On  his  death-bed  he  had  said 
that  he  sent  him  to  learn  to  love  money — to  learn  to 
love  money.  A  light  seemed  to  break  in  on  him  :  Joe 
had  been  afraid  that  Jerry,  not  valuing  money,  would 
share  it  all  out  !  Was  this  his  only  motive  ? 

He  remembered  Joe's  distress  when  mention  was 
made  of  buying  Burden's  Mine  ;  the  distress  that  more 
than  anything  else  had  convinced  Jerry  that  Joe 
worked  in  Burden's  Mine. 

Now  that  theory  was  done  away  with,  what  caused 
that  distress  ?  And  his  death,  what  caused  that  ? 
something  mysterious  which  he  would  not  tell  ;  and 
Greg's  story  of  his  absence  surely  looked  as  if  he  had 
some  resort  and  place  of  work  other  than  the  mine. 

All  this  came  back  to  Jerry  now  that  his  mind  was 
free  from  the  awful  anxiety  that  for  two  days  had 
possessed  him — the  anxiety  about  his  notes  falling 
due,  and  there  being  no  money  to  take  them  up — 
what  would  have  happened  ?  The  whole  scheme 
would  have  failed,  and  he  have  been  branded  forever 
as  an  impostor. 

Now  all  was  secure,  perfectly  secure  ;  he  could  take 
up  hij>  notes,  and  invest  more — could  himself  run  up 
the  Burden's  stock  a  point  or  two,  so  that  even  those 
keen,  cautious  men  in  the  Board  would  feel  secure. 
In  a  day  or  two  he  would  take  Greg  and  go  in  the 
mine,  but  he  would  not  suggest  any  of  the  men  going 
with  them  ;  for  until  they  were  accustomed  to  the 
idea  of  people  going  in  and  out  of  this  haunted  place, 
it  was  best  not  to  ask  them,  so  risking  a  refusal,  for 


JERRY.  3T5 

a  refusal  would  set  the  whole  town  talking,  and  he 
must  be  very  cautious  about  this. 

And  besides  his  report,  he  had  a  proposition  to 
make  to  the  committee  ;  it  was  to  buy  all  the  lumber 
now  lying  in  Eureka.  It  would  be  sold  at  cost,  now 
that  Eureka  was  depressed,  and  it  all  would  be  needed 
in  Durden's  as  soon  as  the  rush  began.  It  would  be 
a  good  investment  for  the  committee  to  build  the 
houses,  so  that  the  community  would  own  them,  and 
when  rented  or  sold,  the  money  would  come  back  to 
the  treasury.  It  was  a  good  plan,  and  he  would 
suggest  it. 

And  now  he  began  to  whistle  merrily,  as  he  walked, 
for  his  heart  grew  light  as  he  planned  his  future,  and 
felt  that  in  the  present  he  was  safe.  Yesterday  the 
world  had  seemed  blacker  than  the  grave — to-day 
there  were  no  tints  needed  to  brighten  it.  But  it 
would  not  do  to  be  too  gay  suddenly, — Greg  nor  the 
doctor  would  understand  it,  and  he  sobered  down 
before  he  entered  Greg's  house,  where  he  found  him 
writing  letters. 

"  Letters  for  you  too,  Wilkerson,"  he  said  ;  "  the 
old  gentleman  has  followed  you  up  quickly." 

"  A  note  of  mine  falls  due  next  week,"  Jerry  an- 
swered, opening  Mr.  Greg's  letter  first.  "  And  good 
news,  too,"  he  went  on,  "  Durden's  stock  on  a  steady 
rise,  and  Fred  anxious  to  join  us." 

Greg  shook  his  head. 

"  I  shall  say  no  to  that,"  he  said.  "  Too  many  of 
a  family  or  a  class  coming  in  will  look  like  a  ring, 
and  we  can  not  afford  to  lose  the  least  bit  of  ground 
in  the  confidence  of  these  people." 

Jerry  looked  up  from  his  letters. 

"  Is  it  well  for  us  to  live  together,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  it,"  Greg  answered 
rather  hastily,  "  and  scarcely  think  it  wise  ;  and  for 
Henshaw,  the  engineer,  I  have  taken  a  room  at  Dave 
Morris's.  I  tell  you,  Wilkerson,"  he  went  on  more 
gravely,  "  that  since  I  have  worked  on  that  commit- 


316  JERRY. 

tee  I  have  not  the  least  faith  in  these  people  ;  they 
would  turn  against  either  or  both  of  us  in  a  minute. 
They  can  not  understand  anybody's  working  for  the 
common  good,  and  immediately  grow  suspicious  of 
any  one  who  says  that  he  does.  Constantly  I  hear 
them  going  back  to  the  doctor's  case,  and  saying  how 
he  deceived  them.  They  have  to  be  held  with  a  strong 
hand,  or  they  will  turn  on  you." 

Jerry  sat  quite  still  ;  these  were  Joe's  own  words, — 
"  They  will  kill  you  in  a  minute," — and  they  would,  if 
he  did  not  kill  them  first  ! 

Still,  he  did  not  blame  them  altogether  now,  for  his 
own  views  had  changed  as  to  the  rights  of  the  masses, 
and  as  to  the  masses  themselves  ;  and  perhaps  it  was 
well  that  they  had  changed,  for  now,  instead  of  try- 
ing to  work  out  some  romantic  dream — some  philan- 
thropical  impossibility,  he  would  take  hold  of  these 
people  and  rule  them  as  the  ignorant  needed  to  be 
ruled. 

"  I  will  manage  them,"  he  answered,  "  and  perhaps 
we  had  better  not  live  together,  although  it  would 
have  been  very  pleasant." 

"  Very,"  Greg  assented,  drawing  idly  on  a  piece  of 
paper  that  lay  near  him  on  the  table  ;  but  the  voice 
was  not  hearty,  and  Jerry  wondered  why  the  wisdom 
of  not  living  together  had  come  to  Greg  so  suddenly  : 
yesterday  he  had  insisted  on  it. 

Did  he  know  of  anything  these  people  were  plot- 
ting, and  so  had  grown  afraid  of  being  connected 
with  him  ?  Jerry  would  not  look  up  while  he  thought, 
for  he  was  afraid  the  suspicion  would  show  in  his  eyes  ; 
and  it  was  a  mean  doubt  to  have,  but  since  the  doctor 
had  failed  him  he  had  come  to  doubt  everybody.  "  I 
shall  try  to  get  a  room  at  Mrs.  Milton's,"  he  said, 
"  until  I  can  move  my  own  house  nearer  the  mine  ; 
it  is  too  far  from  my  work  now";  then  he  went  on 
opening  and  reading  his  letters. 

Three  or  four  applications  for  places  under  him 
from  young  men  of  good  standing  :  two  or  three  in- 


JERRY.  3*7 

quiries  as  to  the  real  worth  of  land  in  Burden's,  and 
of  the  true  future  of  the  place  ;  and  numbers  of  an- 
swers to  his  circulars  sent  out  two  months  ago.  He 
read  them  all  through  gladly  enough,  for  they  all  prom- 
ised well  ;  and  in  a  general  way  he  told  Greg  their 
contents  ;  but  thought  that  as  things  between  them 
were  turning  out  so  differently  from  what  he  had  ex- 
pected, it  would  be  wiser  to  keep  his  own  counsel. 
Nor  did  he  mention  his  plan  of  buying  lumber  and 
building ;  he  would  keep  this  to  himself  also.  And 
he  was  glad  that  Greg  had  declared  himself  so  early 
in  the  campaign,  thereby  giving  him  time  to  strength- 
en himself  so  as  to  stand  alone.  It  had  all  turned  out 
very  well,  and  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  read  out 
these  answers  to  his  circulars, — then  propose  the 
building  plan  to  the  full  meeting  of  the  Town  Com- 
mittee, and  let  them  see  that  Greg  was  no  more  in 
his  confidence  than  they  were. 

And  he  would  not,  as  he  had  thought  of  doing,  send 
more  money  to  Mr.  Greg  to  invest  for  him  :  but  after 
taking  up  all  his  notes  he  would  employ  a  regular 
broker  to  transact  his  business  for  him  ;  for  of  course 
all  that  he  told  the  father  would  be  used  to  help  the 
son,  and  maybe  the  son  would  join  with  any  party 
that  might  form  against  him — might  even  form  one. 

And  in  the  half-hour  that  he  sat  so  sociably  by  his 
friend's  fire,  the  whole  plan  and  temper  of  his  life  had 
changed  ;  and  the  thought  came  to  him,  as  he  left  the 
house,  that  it  seemed  to  be  ordained  that  he  should 
stand  alone. 

He  had  grown  up  with  two  men  whose  lives  hid 
mysteries,  and  so  touched  his  only  on  the  outermost 
surface,  leaving  him  to  live  within  himself ;  and  now 
when  he  thought  that  he  had  made  a  friend  ;  had 
found  one  of  his  own  age  with  the  same  views  and 
ambitions,  this  friend  suddenly  withdrew  from  him  ; 
because  their  ambitions  were  the  same,  perhaps.  It 
was  disappointing,  but  maybe  it  was  best  ;  his  life 
would  be  much  more  to  the  purpose,  and  much  more 


318  JERRY. 

intense,  if  he  lived  entirely  within  himself,  and  frittered 
away  none  of  his  strength  or  energy  on  love  and 
sympathy  ! 

A  little  laugh  broke  from  him  as  he  walked,  that 
was  not  pleasant  to  listen  to,  and  he  said  aloud — 
"Love  and  sympathy  !  "  and  said  it  with  great  con- 
tempt. It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  given  so  much, 
and  to  what  purpose — to  have  it  all  thrown  back  on 
him,  not  because  of  lack  in  him,  but  because  of  a  love 
given  long  ago  to  a  woman. 

And  as  he  stood  knocking  at  Mrs.  Milton's  door, 
that  weary  delicate  face  rose  up  before  him.  A  strange 
story — a  sad  fate  that  often  he  dreamed  over  :  and 
who  was  the  one  shut  away  in  the  convent — and  why 
was  Paul  with  the  doctor  ? 

"  Bless  my  heart,  Jerry  Wilkerson  !  "  and  Mrs.  Mil- 
ton stood  in  the  doorway  looking  him  over  from  head 
to  heels.  "  Come  in — come  in,"  she  went  on,  after  Jerry 
had  shaken  hands  with  her  and  had  knocked  the  snow 
off  his  boots — "  it's  rale  wittles  an'  drink  to  see  you 
a-bowin'  aroun'  an'  a-talkin'  fur  orl  the  worl'  like  the 
doctor  ;  tucker  cheer,"  and  she  dropped  into  one  of 
the  rocking-chairs  that  had  figured  so  many  years 
ago  at  'Lije's  funeral ;  only  now  it  had  grown  rusty 
and  bare  of  varnish,  and  the  arms  were  tied  in  place 
by  pieces  of  string. 

"  An'  how  did  you  favor  down  East  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Very  much,"  Jerry  answered,  "  but  I  could  not 
live  away  from  Burden's." 

"  Gosh,  no  !  "  scornfully  ;  "  I  aint  got  no  stomick 
fur  the  pulin'  way  folks  lives  down  East,  thar  aint  no 
grit  'bout  nothin' — notter  specker  grit !  " 

Jerry  laughed. 

"  But  it  is  very  comfortable  over  there,  Mrs.  Mil- 
ton," he  said. 

"  Burden's  '11  do  me,"  she  answered,  taking  down  a 
black  clay  pipe,  "  an'  it  did  fur  Joe  Gilliam,  an'  it  did 
fur  'Lije  Milton,  an'  them  were  good  men  as  ever  wuz 


JERRY.  3*9 

daubed  outer  clay;  an'  you  orter  'gree  to  thet,  Jerry 
Wilkerson." 

"  I  do,"  and  Jerry  looked  into  the  fire  sadly  :  cer- 
tainly Joe  had  been  faithful  to  him. 

"  I  'Hows  thar's  sumpen  on  youun's  mine,  Jerry 
Wilkerson,"  the  old  woman  went  on,  reseating  herself 
and  looking  at  him  keenly  from  out  a  cloud  of  smoke  ; 
"  when  a  man's  wittles  don't  sot  easy,  or  ther's  the 
least  little  thing  a-pesterin'  him,  he  allers  looks  like 
he's  a-hankerin'  alter  a-buryin' — what's  up?" 

Jerry  ran  his  hand  over  his  face,  trying  to  change 
his  expression  ;  this  old  woman  was  so  keen. 

"  I  came  to  see  if  I  could  board  with  you,  Mrs.  Mil- 
ton," he  said  quietly,  "  my  house  is  too  far  from  my 
work." 

"  I  knowed  it,"  nodding  slowly,  and  looking  into 
the  fire,  "  Joe's  gone,  an'  you  is  a-goin'  to  spen' 
what  he  saved,  a-boardin' — mussy  me,  boy,  you  kin 
live  a  heap  cheaper  to  you  seff." 

The  color  rose  in  Jerry's  face. 

"  I  want  to  board  only  until  I  can  move  my  house," 
he  said,  "  and  I  am  going  to  work,  Mrs.  Milton,  not 
waste." 

"  Jest  so,  thet's  better  :  but  movin'  thet  house  aint 
a-gointer  pay,  them  logs  is  plum  rotten  by  now  ;  git 
youuns  a  little  new  lumber,  an'  put  up  a  shanty, — it'll 
pay  a  heap  better." 

"  Maybe  so,"  Jerry  answered  :  this  was  a  good  idea 
to  have  in  people's  minds ;  they  would  think  the  old 
house  had  rotted  away ;  and  as  no  one  used  the 
trail  now,  no  one  would  know  it  had  been  aided  in 
its  fall. 

"  I  shall  send  my  trunk  and  my  bed  down  on  Mon- 
day ? "  he  suggested. 

"  Well,  an'  the  price  ? " 

"  You  must  settle  that,"  rising,  "  you  know  best 
what  it  will  be  worth." 

"  You  makes  a  fine  trade,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  stand- 
ing between  him  and  the  door,  with  arms  akimto, 


320  JERRY. 

"  Joe'd  be  rayly  proud  to  hear  how  peartly  smart  hisn 
boy  were." 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  cheat  me,  Mrs.  Milton  ;  at 
least  I  did  not  think  so,"  laughing. 

"  Thet  mout  be  so,  an'  agin  it  moutent ;  an'  I'd  sot 
a  heap  mo'  sto'  by  you  if  you'd  try  to  maker  trade,  I 
would.  You  tried  it  on  me  when  you  come  alonger 
Dan  Burk  to  buy  the  mine,  an'  you  made  a  rale 
good  trade,  you  did,"  putting  her  head  on  one  side 
and  taking  her  pipe  from  her  mouth  ;  "  I  reckon  you 
is  got  mo'  truck  sence  Joe's  gone,  an'  don't  feel  so 
pertickler  bad  off  ;  ain't  thet  so  ?  " 

It  was  in  Jerry's  mind,  indeed  on  his  lips,  to  say 
that  then  he  had  been  buying  for  the  people,  and 
now  he  was  making  only  a  little  arrangement  for  him- 
self ;  but  he  remembered  Greg's  words  that  these  peo- 
ple did  not  believe  in  such  motives — words  he  knew 
to  be  true,  so  he  said  only  : 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Milton,  I  have  more  money  now  than 
then." 

"I  knowed  it,"  nodding  her  head,  "an"  nobody 
need  not  to  prophesy  to  know  it ;  kase  orl  the  town 
knowed  thet  Joe  Gilliam  were  a  savin'  creetur,  an' 
lived  lonesome,"  she  went  on  more  thoughtfully — 
"  an'  did  orl  fur  hisseff  an'  fur  you  ;  I'll  be  bound, 
Joe  washed  youuns'  cloze,  now  aint  thet  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Jerry  answered,  "  and  mended  them  too." 

"  Great-day-in-the-mornin' !  an'  a  heaper  gals  jest 
ready  to  tuck  up  alonger  him — Gosh  ! " 

Jerry  laughed,  he  could  not  help  it, — the  idea  of 
Joe's  marrying  seemed  so  queer,  it  had  never  occurred 
to  him  before  ;  and  the  other  idea  of  the  young 
woman  being  willing  to  take  him — that  was  still  more 
strange  ;  marry  old  Joe  !  and  he  laughed.  The  old 
woman  joined  in  with  a  grim  sort  of  chuckle  over  her 
own  wit,  walking  with  him  to  the  door. 

"  Go  'long,  boy,"  she  said,  "  an'  don't  fotch  no 
beds — I'se  got  beds,  I  reckon,  an'  Milley  kin  rub  out 
youuns'  shirts  onest  inner  while :  an'  you  is  jest 


JERRY.  321 

right  thet  Mandy  Milton  aint  agoin*  to  cheat  you, 
I  were  jest  a-foolin'  :  come  along  when  you  hes  a 
mine  to,  an'  you'll  fine  the  inside  of  Mandy  Milton's 
han'  jest  sure,  you  will,"  and  she  slapped  him  on 
the  back  too  heartily  for  comfort  almost ;  "  I  aint 
furgot  thet  Joe  Gilliam,  an'  me,  an'  'Lije  come  from 
the  same  ole  State,  an'  thet  fur  awhile  Joe  Gilliam 
an'  'Lije  were  kinder  pards — I  aint  furgot — farwell," 
and  she  stood  in  the  doorway  to  watch  him. 

"  Poor  creetur,"  she  muttered,  "  to  think  as  he's 
pards  alonger  Dan  Burk,  the  p'isen-meanest  parry- 
toed  creetur  as  ever  were  growed,  drat  'im  !  "  then 
she  shut  the  door. 

And  Jerry  went  his  way  up  the  lonely  trail,  think- 
ing deeply,  and  readjusting  his  mind  to  the  new  order 
ot  things  that  had  come  to  him  since  he  had  left  his 
home  light-hearted  and  sure  of  his  future. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"  Friend,  who  knows  if  death  have  life  or  life  have  death  for  goal  ? 
Day  nor  night  can  tell  us,   nor  many  seas  declare  nor  skies 

unroll 

What  has  been  from  everlasting,  or  if  aught  shall  always  be. 
Silence  answering  only  strikes  response  reverberate  on  the  soul 
From  the  shore  that  hath  no  shore  beyond  it  set  in  all  the  sea." 

OETTLED  at  Mrs.  Milton's,  Jerry  felt  more  himself 

^  than  he  had  done  since  the  time  that  seemed  so 

long  ago,  when  he  had  waited  to  warn  the  doctor. 

It  was  better  for  him  to  be  always  among  his  fel- 
lows ;  the  lonely  life  up  on  the  trail  allowed  him  too 
much  time  to  brood  and  see  visions  ;  this  busy  life 
was  more  wholesome. 

His  report  had  been  received  with  great  applause 
by  the  committee,  and  his  proposition  to  buy  the  lum- 
ber from  Eureka,  and  to  build  houses,  had  been 
accepted,  and  a  committee  on  building  appointed,  of 
which  he  was  chairman. 

Engineer  Henshaw  had  come,  and  had  been  settled 
in  his  rooms,  and  now  the  investigation  of  the  mine 
was  to  come  the  next  day. 

It  was  very  late;  Mrs.  Milton  and  the  town  of  Dur- 
den's  had  been  long  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  weary, 
but  Jerry's  light  burned  still,  and  he  wrote  busily. 
All  day  he  had  worked  for  the  Commune — to-night  he 
worked  for  himself.  His  private  affairs  were  in  the 
most  prosperous  condition;  he  had  taken  up  all  his 
notes  as  they  fell  due;  and  had  spent  three  days  in 
riding  to  and  from  the  nearest  station — to  send  his 
money  to  be  deposited  safely  in  bank.  His  broker 
had  telegraphed  its  safe  arrival,  and  his  certificate  of 
deposit  and  bank  account  had  come  to  him  that  after- 

322 


JERRY.  323 

noon.  He  knew  now  how  much  he  owned;  at  last  he 
had  counted  all  the  savings  of  old  Joe's  long  life,  and 
of  old  Burden,  whose  money  Joe  had  found — had 
counted  every  cent  won  by  those  lives  of  unceasing 
toil  and  saving,  and  knew  himself  to  be  a  rich  man. 

It  had  taken  time  for  him  to  get  the  money  together: 
log  by  log,  and  board  by  board,  he  had  taken  down 
the  whole  of  Joe's  house;  he  had  gotten  all  that  was  hid- 
den under  the  floor,  and  had  searched  the  roof  most 
thoroughly.  If  ever  it  came  to  his  memory  that  he 
was  destroying  the  place  that  had  sheltered  all  his 
happiest  years,  the  thought  did  not  stay  his  destroy- 
ing hand;  rather,  there  was  a  haunting  fear  always 
that  some  of  the  treasure  might  be  lost;  and  his  most 
constant  dream  was  that  the  little  bundles  were  rolling 
away  from  him  in  the  snow  and  the  rain. 

Relentlessly  he  pulled  down  all  the  little  shelves 
and  conveniences  that  one  after  another  Joe  had  ar- 
ranged for  him.  The  first  shelf  put  up  for  his  school- 
books;  the  larger  one  put  up  later  for  books  that  Joe 
had  given  the  doctor  money  to  buy  for  him;  the  little 
cupboard  nailed  against  the  wall,  that  served  to  store 
his  papers  in — all  these  came  down  one  by  one  ! 
Whatever  was  of  any  use,  he  gave  away:  Joe's  clothes, 
and  tools,  and  bed;  the  rest  of  the  things  he  kept  to 
put  in  his  own  house  that  was  now  building. 

All  his  money  was  safe  now, — what  did  these  old 
things  matter?  But  he  kept  the  little. bags  that  had 
held  the  gold;  somehow  he  could  not  destroy  them; 
and  in  one  of  them  he  had  found  a  strip  of  paper,  and 
the  words  on  it  puzzled  him;  but  he  could  not  destroy 
the  little  bags. 

His  face  had  grown  very  sharpen  the  last  few  weeks, 
and  his  eyes  burned  more  brightly  than  ever  before, 
as  he  sat  writing  under  the  full  glare  of  the  lamp. 

He  was  a  rich  man  now — a  rich  man  !  Sometimes 
he  said  the  words  over  to  himself  until  they  rang  in  his 
ears  and  his  heart, — a  rich  man  !  And  the  respectful 
letters  from  his  broker,  and  the  paternal  notes  from 


324  JERRY. 

Mr.  Greg,  were  but  the  forerunning  voices  of  what  the 
world  would  soon  sing  around  him. 

His  broker  had  advised  him  not  to  take  any  more 
stock  in  Burden's  just  now;  he  carried  enough  to  as- 
sure people  of  his  confidence  in  the  venture,  and  to 
take  any  more  would  look  as  if  he  wished  to  prop  it 
up.  So  some  of  his  money  was  invested  in  other 
ways,  and  people  in  business  circles  looked  on  him  as 
a  "solid  man."  But  in  Burden's  he  was  still  only 
"  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  the  chief  man  of  the  Commune;  the 
man  who  had  the  responsibility  of  the  whole  town  and 
its  affairs  on  his  shoulders,  but  who  expected  to  make 
his  money  as  the  Burdenites  made  theirs.  No  one 
knew  of  Joe's  treasure,  and  his  strange  sickness  and 
death  were  soon  forgotten. 

Mrs.  Milton  had  said,  and  every  one  believed  it,  and 
thought  it  most  natural,  that  Joe  Gilliam  had  saved  a 
little  money,  and  young  Wilkerson  was  living  on  it; 
but  no  one  knew  of  the  bank  account,  nor  of  the  in- 
vestments made  in  his  name  in  various  prosperous 
railways:  only  Ban  Burk  wondered  in  his  heart  where 
Joe's  money  was.  He  knew  how  much  he  had  saved, 
and  he  knew  that  Joe  must  have  saved  twice  as  much; 
yet  no  word  had  come  to  him — no  whisper  of  Jerry 
having  found  but  the  little  he  was  now  spending  on 
his  living;  and  he  wondered  if  the  old  man  had  hid- 
den it  too  securely,  or  purposely  had  put  it  out  of 
Jerry's  reach. 

Burk  had  been  to  see  Joe  once  during  his  illness, 
but  Joe  had  not  vouchsafed  to  notice  him  except  to 
say  that  there  was  "  a  curse  on  the  gold,  and  death  in 
the  mine  " — and  this  looked  as  if  he  might  have  buried 
it  out  of  sight  forever.  Then  Ban  remembered  Jerry's 
visit  to  the  East  and  hearing  that  he  had  spent  a  great 
deal  there;  maybe  it  had  gone  in  this  way,  maybe; 
but  then  this  would  not  account  for  Joe's  great  desire 
that  Jerry  should  learn  to  love  money.  He  could 
come  to  no  satisfactory  conclusion,  and  fell  to  watch- 
ing Jerry  closely  for  any  betraying  word  or  action;  he 


JERRY.  325 

went  to  see  him  at  all  hours,  hoping  to  surprise  him 
in  some  way,  but  gained  nothing  for  his  trouble. 
Jerry  lived  quietly  at  Mrs.  Miller's — he  was  building 
for  himself  a  small  house  in  no  way  better  than  the 
houses  built  for  the  emigrants;  only  two  small  rooms 
close  under  the  cliff  near  the  mine's  mouth;  he  gave 
no  sign  in  his  dress,  nor  in  any  of  his  habits,  that  he 
was  in  possession  of  any  great  amount  of  money:  and 
Dan  Burk  was  puzzled. 

The  others  who  watched  Jerry  were  Greg,  with  al- 
ways an  anxious  look  in  his  eyes;  and  Paul  Henley. 

The  doctor  came  and  went  silently;  he  attended 
carefully  to  his  work  in  Eureka,  and  kindly  to  all  the 
sick  and  dying;  his  life  seemed  to  have  lost  all  inter- 
est, and  he  went  about  as  one  to  whom  duty  has  be- 
come habit.  His  great  tract  of  land  lay  under  the  sun 
and  rain  untouched  and  unsought:  his  great  stacks  of 
lumber  had  been  sold  to  Burden's;  his  imported  work- 
men had  followed  their  leader  Greg,  each  buying  his 
little  lot,  and  building  his  little  shanty;  and  the  land- 
agents  whom  he,  more  than  Jerry,  had  foiled,  had  been 
bought  out  by  the  railway  company,  and  in  a  body 
had  gone  away  in  search  of  further  prey. 

All  things  rested  in  Jerry's  hands  now,  and  he  had 
begun  to  think  he  could  not  fail — that  all  he  touched 
must  succeed.  Nothing  surprised  him  unless  it  went 
wrong;  then  he  was  provoked.  He  ruled  the  town 
committee,  never  hesitating  to  tell  them  the  most  bit- 
ing truths:  he  dictated  to  the  building  committee:  he 
asked  no  advice,  and  told  none  of  his  plans.  When  a 
plan  was  fully  matured  in  his  own  mind,  he  system- 
atically worked  things  in  that  direction,  then  laid 
the  plan  before  the  committee,  quite  sure  of  its 
adoption. 

He  was  fully  armed  always,  and  people  said  he  was 
not  afraid  of  the  devil.  More  than  once  Dave  Mor- 
ris had  bragged  of  his  defeat,  elevating  himself  along 
with  the  reigning  hero — a  friend  intimate  enough  to 
knock  him  down  ;  and  Dan  Burk  often  had  repeated 


326  JERRY. 

old  Joe's  words — "  he  would  kill  without  thinking  " — 
and,  if  true  or  not,  this  was  believed. 

And  Jerry's  laws  were  stringent. 

No  whisky  was  allowed  in  the  town  save  as  rations 
to  men  who  were  working  ;  and  it  was  said  that  Mr. 
Wilkerson  would  shoot  any  man  he  caught  selling 
anything  stronger  than  beer.  Long  ago  he  had  es- 
tablished a  school  and  church,  where  services  of  some 
kind  were  held  every  Sunday  ;  but  he  had  no  reading- 
rooms  ;  no  lending-libraries  ;  nor  any  news-stalls  : 
those  who  wished  newspapers  might  take  them  pri- 
vately, but  the  fewer  the  better  ;  he  did  not  think 
them  good  for  the  masses,  they  only  fomented  dis- 
cord and  discontent ;  he  had  seen  this,  and  as  the 
people  were  satisfied  with  the  Durdens  Banner  he  made 
no  move  to  introduce  papers  from  the  outside  world. 

As  it  was,  his  power  was  scarcely  realized  ;  and 
Burden's,  surprised  by  the  order  and  method  with 
which  she  was  governed,  followed  Jerry  quietly  and 
blindly. 

His  letters  were  finished  now,  and  he  pushed  aside 
the  coarse  curtain  that  shaded  the  window  and  looked 
out.  The  autumn  was  very  late,  fortunately  for  his 
plans,  with  only  the  slightest  snowfalls  at  long  inter- 
vals ;  allowing  him  to  build  and  prepare  for  the  new- 
comers, and  to  push  the  work  in  the  new  "  finds  ";  a 
little  more  good  weather,  and  the  old  mine  would  be 
reopened,  and  the  railway  in  ;  and  of  course  the 
weather  would  hold. 

There  was  a  slight  covering  of  snow  on  the  ground 
now,  as  Jerry  looked  out,  but  the  stars  were  shining 
overhead,  and  the  moon  so  brightly,  that  he  could 
see  the  stone  meant  for  Joe's  grave,  leaning  against 
the  fence. 

"  Joe  Gilliams  last  Find  "  was  the  inscription  cut 
on  it,  with  the  date  of  his  death. 

Jerry  turned  away  ;  his  last  find, — where  had  his 
first  find  been — where  had  he  worked  all  these  years — 
wnere  had  he  found  all  his  gold  ? 


JERRY.  327 

Up  and  down  Jerry  walked  :  to-morrow  for  the 
second  time  in  his  life  he  would  enter  Burden's 
Mine.  Would  he  find  anything  there  to  tell  of  that 
long  toil  and  saving  ?  might  he  not  have  mistaken 
Joe's  last  words  ? 

He  had  found  no  mining  tools  among  Joe's  things  ; 
no  lanterns,  nor  miner's  lamps,  nothing  but  common 
saws,  and  hammers,  and  hatchets  :  no  clothes  that 
looked  as  if  he  had  worked  underground.  Would 
he  find  them  all  in  some  black  passage  in  the  mine  ; 
all  piled  carefully  in  some  far  recess,  put  there  by  the 
old  hands  that  could  handle  them  no  more  :  or  had 
Joe  said  true,  that  he  had  not  worked  in  the  mine, — 
that  it  was  all  safe  unless  you  turned  to  the  left. 

He  paused  in  his  walking  :  some  day  he  would 
examine  that  turn  to  the  left.  Die — he  could  not  die 
yet — he  would  not  die  !  If  the  devil  had  filled  all  the 
cracks  of  the  earth  with  gold,  he  would  dig  it  all  out 
and  give  it  to  men  so  that  there  would  be  no  more 
power  in  it  to  tempt  them  :  and  he  laughed  a  little, 
remembering  his  foolish  visions. 

He  went  to  the  window  again  ;  his  head  was  hot 
and  heavy,  and  lifting  the  sash  he  leaned  out  into  the 
biting  wind. 

"  Joe  Gil  Ham's  last  Find" 

The  stone  leaning  against  the  fence  seemed  to 
speak  to  him.  Something  connected  with  his  work 
had  killed  the  old  man  ;  and  his  last  find,  did  that 
mean  his  grave,  or  the  thing  that  had  caused  his 
death  ? 

He  could  never  find  out  ;  and  to-morrow  he  would 
go  into  the  mine  that  the  old  inhabitants  looked  on 
as  fatal  to  all  who  entered  it. 

Mrs.  Milton  had  uttered  sad  forebodings. 

"  My  'Lije  were  a  good,  strong  man,  an'  he  were 
gone  two  days,"  counting  slowly  on  her  fingers,  "  two 
days,  a  Thursday  an'  a  Friday,  thet  were  orl — orl  the 
time  he  were  in  thar  ;  thet  were  orl,  but  when  he 
come  home  a  Saturday,  he  were  done — plum  done  !  " 


328  JERRY. 

and  she  wiped  her  nose  with  the  corner  of  her  apron  ; 
"tharwarn't  no  mo"  sperrit  in  him,  no  mo'  sperrit  in 
'Lije  Milton,"  shaking  her  head  ;  "  he  never  said 
anether  cuss,  ner  tuck  anether  dram,  ceppen  what  the 
doctor  give  him  ;  an'  he  never  tole  what  he  sawn  in 
thar — he  never  tole  it." 

Then  Jerry  had  left  her  :  he  had  heard  that  story 
long  ago  from  Joe,  and  later  had  had  suspicions  of 
Joe's  connection  with  this  same  story — dark  suspic- 
ions that  he  had  stilled  :  now  they  all  came  back  to 
him  as  he  thought  of  the  next  day,  and  looked  at  the 
stone  leaning  against  the  fence. 

"  Joe  Gilliam's  last  Find  " — that  narrow  grave  up 
among  the  rocks — the  common  pine  coffin — the  quick 
forgetfulness  ! 

He  came  in  hastily  from  the  cold  night,  and  shut 
the  window  ;  he  must  get  some  rest,  or  he  would  not 
be  fit  for  the  next  day's  work. 

Carefully  he  put  the  fire  together,  and  drew  the 
curtain,  then  looked  at  the  clock  ;  it  was  time  almost 
for  Mrs.  Milton  to  get  up. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"When  wealth  shall  rest  no  more  in  mounded  heaps, 
But  smit  with  freer  light  shall  slowly  melt 
In  many  streams  to  fatten  lower  lands, 
And  light  shall  spread,  and  man  be  liker  man 
Thro'  all  the  seasons  of  the  golden  year. " 

A  ND  this  was  the  original  bed  of  the  stream?  " 

£\  Mr.    Henshaw    asked,    standing    in    front  of 

Jerry's  unfinished  shanty,  and   looking  up  the 

gorge,  that  was  untouched  by  the  sun  as  yet,  "  and 

formerly  it  flowed  into  this  opening  and  disappeared  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Jerry  answered,  "  and  Mr.  Burden,  seeing 
indications  of  gold  in  these  rocks,  turned  the  stream 
aside  by  building  a  dam  up  yonder,"  pointing  to  where 
a  dam,  running  up  and  down  the  ridge,  turned  the 
stream  into  a  shallow  ravine  on  the  other  side,  "  and 
worked  in  this  cave  opening.  It  is  said,"  looking  at 
the  engineer  keenly,  "  that  the  Eureka  Mine,  which 
has  also  a  cave  opening,  was  the  outlet  of  the  stream." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  seriously  ;  "  I  doubt  it  ;  there  is  no 
sign  of  a  cave  opening  there." 

Jerry  laughed. 

"  The  only  way  to  settle  it,"  he  said,  "  would  be  to 
turn  the  stream  in  again." 

The  engineer  shook  his  head  solemnly.  He  was 
too  poor  a  man  to  joke  about  trying  experiments  on 
gold  mines.  "  That  would  be  ruination,  you  know," 
he  said. 

"  Of  course,"  and  Jerry  brought  himself  back  to 
the  strict  business  of  the  hour  :  this  man  was  literal 
and  earnest,  the  very  man  to  have  on  an  exciting 
search,  as  this  might  prove  :  and  the  traditions  were 
nothing  ;  indeed,  it  would  be  for  the  benefit  of  all  if 

329 


33°  JERRY. 

they  could  be  forgotten.  And  the  scrap  of  paper, 
that  now  he  understood,  had  better  be  burned.  For 
with  the  opening  of  the  mine  all  the  most  far- 
fetched and  most  weird  of  the  legends  had  come  to 
the  surface. 

Mrs.  Milton  had  poured  into  his  ears  all  that  'Lije 
had  revealed  to  her,  of  the  sounds  like  women  and 
children  crying  and  calling  for  help — of  a  great  red 
eye  that  glared  at  him — of  twinkling  lights  that  shone 
in  impossible  places  ;  and  Dan  Burk  had  told  him  the 
old  Indian's  story  of  how  the  tribe  had  driven  in  all 
its  women  and  children  to  death  in  a  bottomless  hole, 
rather  than  they  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
enemy.  But  the  Indians  had  not  gone  in  through  the 
mine's  mouth,  of  course,  but  through  another  open- 
ing into  a  cave  that  lay  on  the  other  side  of  this 
hole — a  cave  that  was  "  lined  and  floored  with  pure 
gold  !  " 

Before  day  that  morning  Dan  had  come  to  tell 
Jerry  this  story,  and  to  warn  him  not  to  turn  to  the 
left.  "  Joe  were  the  only  feller  as  knew  the  way,"  he 
whispered,  "  and  'Lije  Milton's  death  come  from  there, 
and  Joe  Gilliam's  death  come  from  there  !  " 

So  Jerry  went  to  meet  the  engineer  in  the  early 
morning  with  his  nerves  all  strained  and  tense,  and 
his  mind  all  alive  to  every  least  sign  or  mark.  He  had 
not  told  Dan  Burk  that  Joe  already  had  warned  him 
about  the  turn  to  the  left,  nor  had  he  mentioned  to 
any  one  Burk's  story  of  the  abyss  that  Joe  had  crossed 
daily  ;  but  the  whole  thing  was  clear  to  his  own  mind 
now.  He  could  understand  now  Joe's  anxiety  as  to 
the  mine  being  occupied, — it  was  his  only  entrance  to 
this  cave  beyond  where  he  had  found  his  gold  ;  and 
amid  the  chaos  of  new  surmises  that  were  coming  to 
him,  the  dreadful  suspicion  that  Joe  had  aided  in  ter- 
rifying 'Lije  Milton  away  from  his  work  of  explora- 
tion grew  stronger  and  stronger.  He  had  given  up 
the  thought  that  'Lije  had  been  hurt  in  any  way,  for 
from  Mrs.  Milton  he  had  heard  that  the  illness  had 


JERRY.  33 l 

lasted  for  months,  and  had  been  what  she  called  "  a 
dwinin'." 

"  'Lige  stayed  in  thar  as  long  as  he  said  he  were 
a-goin'  to  stay,"  she  said,  "  'cause  he  never  let  go 
onest  he  tuck  er  grip,  but  what  he  sawn  an'  hearn  in 
thar  never  leff  him,  an'  he  worn't  never  wuth  nothin* 
no  mo'." 


"  It  promises  well,"  and  Mr.  Henshaw's  voice 
roused  Jerry  from  his  dreams  ;  "  the  stream  fell  in 
here,"  he  went  on,  "  and  the  opening  was  enlarged 
from  the  top  ;  see  ? " 

"  Yes,"  looking  up  where  the  marks  made  by  the 
picks  so  many  years  ago  were  still  visible  ;  "  but  here 
come  the  men,"  and  he  leaned  over  the  opening,  that 
seemed  to  descend  much  more  rapidly  than  he  re- 
membered. 

The  men  came  up  ;  all  of  them  were  new  men,  anx- 
ious for  the  work,  and  anxious  for  the  success  of  the 
mine  in  which  they  had  shares  :  what  were  legends  to 
them  ? 

One  after  another  they  descended,  Jerry  leading  the 
way.  He  was  a  man  now,  and  educated  sufficiently 
to  be  above  all  superstitious  and  ghostly  fears,  yet  he 
looked  back  longingly  to  the  light  as  they  went  down 
into  the  darkness,  and  for  an  instant  held  his  breath 
to  hear  the  water  that  dropped  for  ever — and  what 
would  he  see  ? 

"  This  is  still  the  bed  of  the  stream,"  Mr.  Henshaw 
said,  as  they  paused  for  the  men  to  light  the  lamps, 
"and  it  turns  to  the  left." 

Jerry  looked  ;  surely  it  did,  and  he  looked  about 
him  carefully  for  some  mark  or  track — some  little, 
beaten  way  that  would  tell  that  the  place  had  been 
frequented — but  there  was  not  a  sign  :  the  worn  bed 
of  the  stream  held  no  marks. 

"  And  they  tunneled  here  straight  in  front  of  them, 
and  up,"  Mr.  Henshaw  went  on  solemnly,  holding  ut> 


33 2  JERRY. 

his  lantern  to  prove  his  words.  "  They  should  have 
followed  the  bed  of  the  stream." 

"  Shall  we  ? "  Jerry  asked  doubtfully. 

"  It  will  be  best,"  was  answered  ;  "  but  follow  very 
carefully,  for  being  the  natural  opening  they  would 
have  followed  it  as  least  expensive  unless  stopped  by 
something  impassable." 

Jerry  listened  quietly  ;  he  could  never  have  rea- 
soned in  this  way  ;  surely  this  was  the  man  for  such 
an  expedition. 

"  I  will  go  first,"  Jerry  said,  and  no  one  demurred. 
The  bed  of  the  stream  tended  steadily  to  the  left, 
dipping  slightly,  but  lay  several  feet  above  the  floor  of 
the  tunnel  where  they  stood,  so  that  a  little  climbing 
was  necessary  to  put  them  back  on  this  level  they  had 
left. 

"They  did  not  tunnel  here,"  and  Jerry  lifted  his 
light  to  show  the  scarred  roof,  when  once  more  they 
were  in  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Henshaw  answered,  "  strange  they 
should  have  left  it." 

On  they  scrambled,  Jerry  leading  the  way,  and 
going  most  carefully  ;  what  might  he  not  find  ? 

Presently  the  light  from  his  lantern  struck  against 
a  wall, — the  next  moment  it  traveled  indefinitely  into 
the  gloom  ! 

He  paused,  and  the  men  behind  him  stopped  as  if 
moved  by  machinery — they  were  not  timid  men,  and 
were  seeking  their  fortunes,  but  they  stopped  as  one 
man  and  listened. 

Was  it  water  or  wind  that  they  heard — a  sigh  ? — a  cry  ? 

"  It  is  the  echo  of  our  own  voices,"  Jerry  said 
sharply — "  listen  !  "  and  he  raised  his  voice  in  a  high, 
long  cry  :  the  men  started — even  Henshaw  felt  his 
nerves  jerk  a  little  as  the  cry  went  on,  and  on,  and 
on — coming  back  again  and  again — fading,  and  rising, 
and  dying  like  a  sob  !  Then  a  dead  silence  fell,  and 
Jerry  leaned  against  the  wall  he  had  reached,  un- 
nerved and  weak. 


JERRY.  333 

Was  it  a  sob  or  a  sigh  that  swept  past  him,  or  the 
last  wave  of  sound  from  his  own  cry !  It  came  again, 
and  he  started,  lifting  up  his  lantern — higher — higher  ! 
and  he  stepped  back  slowly,  carefully. 

"  Stand  still !  "  he  commanded  quickly,  for  the  men 
were  moving  forward  ;  then  picked  up  a  stone  and 
cast  it  down  in  front  of  him. 

The  men  all  saw  the  movement  by  the  flickering 
lights,  and  waited  in  silence.  Would  it  never  reach 
the  bottom  ?  then  far  off  there  came  a  sound,  then 
another,  and  another  fading  down  in  the  depths. 

"  Great  God  !  if  we  had  gone  on  !  "  and  the  men 
moved  back  hastily  ;  but  Jerry  did  not  move,  and  Mr. 
Henshaw  came  to  his  side. 

"  Drop  another  stone,"  he  said  ;  "  we  can  time  it 
and  judge  the  depth." 

Jerry  picked  up  a  stone,  and  the  man  of  business 
took  out  his  watch. 

"  Now — "  and  the  stone  flashed  across  the  belt  of 
light  and  disappeared  :  down — down — down.  What 
would  it  fall  on — bones  ?  poor  whitened  bones  that 
would  be  crushed  and  powdered  by  this  touch  from 
the  upper  world — by  this  stone  their  feet  had  trod  on 
years  ago — ah,  it  struck  them  then  ! 

"  Very  deep,"  and  Mr.  Henshaw  looked  up  in  the 
darkness  to  make  his  calculations. 

"  One  hundred  feet  at  least,"  he  said  ;  "  a  very  good 
reason  for  not  following  the  bed  of  the  stream, — it  fell 
here";  then  he  went  back  to  where  the  men  were 
grouped.  "  That  echo  was  a  fortunate  warning,"  he 
said,  "  and  we  must  put  a  railing  there,  it  is  too  dan- 
gerous." 

But  Jerry  had  not  left, his  position:  the  corner 
where  he  leaned  was  polished  as  by  constant  rubbing — 
the  spot  where  he  stood  had  regular  marks  worn  into 
it ;  he  waved  his  lantern  out  into  the  darkness,  and 
there  not  four  feet  away  was  the  corner  of  a  ledge  ; 
he  paused  :  was  this  Joe's  path — did  he  daily  cross  this 
awful  gap  a  hundred  feet  deep — jump  across  that 


334  JERRY. 

space  trusting  to  that  ledge  ?  He  drew  a  sharp  breath  ; 
he  would  not  find  anything  of  Joe's,  they  were  in  the 
cave  at  the  end  of  the  black  tunnel  down  which  he 
looked  ; — and  the  ledge  he  had  seen  must  run  along 
the  wall,  and  be  the  path  to  the  cave. 

And  this  awful  risk  for  gold  ! 

Mr.  Henshaw  called  him,  and  he  went  back  to  where 
the  men  were  turning  over  sand  and  rubbish  that  had 
been  brought  in  by  rain  and  wind  ;  and  Mr.  Henshaw 
peering  at  everything  closely. 

•"  Very  rich,"  he  said  at  last,  "  but  worked  most 
carelessly — most  carelessly." 

In  a  moment  Jerry  was  at  his  side. 

"  They  made  a  great  mistake,"  Mr.  Henshaw  went 
on, — "  they  worked  overhead  and  in  front  of  them, — 
a  great  mistake, — all  lies  under-foot — all  of  it  ;  rich, 
most  rich  !  " 

"  Good  enough  !  "  and  the  men  went  to  work  more 
busily  than  ever  to  clear  the  rubbish  away. 

"  It  will  be  well  to  work  this  tunnel  that  is  cut 
already,  until  we  get  the  proper  materials  to  sink  a 
shaft,"  Mr.  Henshaw  went  on,  "but  we  must  go 
down  ;  for  this  vein,  the  richest  I  have  ever  seen," 
his  eyes  gleaming  as  he  spoke,  "widens  as  it  de- 
scends." 

Eagerly  the  men  listened,  and  Jerry,  with  shining 
eyes,  seemed  to  drink  in  the  words. 

"  There  are  millions  in  this  mine — millions  !  " 

Jerry  stood  quite  still,  and  his  old  dreams,  that  only 
last  night  he  had  laughed  at,  seemed  to  sweep  over 
him, — and  fill  his  brain  as  a  mist :  all  his  visions  of 
piles  and  piles  of  gold — piles  that  would  satisfy  the 
nations,  and  stop  all  greed  and  longing  !  Gold  should 
be  a  drug  in  the  market  :  and  what  would  the  world 
do  for  a  medium  of  exchange  ?  In  the  latter  days 
there  was  to  be  *'  perplexity  of  nations  " — nations  that 
could  not  buy  nor  sell  to  each  other — nations  reduced 
to  barter  !  All  the  great  exchanges  in  ruins  ;  grass 
growing  in  the  streets  of  great  cities,  and  the  nations 


JERRY.  335 

spreading  out  over  plains  and  hills,  seeking  for  places 
to  plant  and  reap  ! 

Back,  further  still,  they  were  searching  into  the  tun- 
nel, and  Jerry  followed  mechanically,  walking  as  one 
in  a  dream. 

No  wonder  the  devil  had  worked  to  drive  men  out 
from  this  great  treasure-house  ;  his  power  was  to  be 
taken  away  ;  his  charm  wherewith  he  charmed  all  men 
to  sin  and  death — the  root  of  all  the  evil  and  suffer- 
ing under  the  sun  ;  this  gold  for  which  men  sold  their 
souls — this  thing  was  to  be  cast  among  them  until  it 
was  like  the  dust  in  the  road,  and  the  chips  ! — yes,  as 
when  one  "  breaketh  and  heweth  wood  " — then  the 
devil's  power  would  be  done  ! 

And  Mr.  Henshaw  turning  over  a  rock  in  his  hands 
muttered,  "  Millions — millions  " — he  must  borrow 
money  and  invest  in  the  venture  ;  and  he  would  write 
to  Sue  that  soon  he  would  be  a  rich  man — a  rich  man  ! 
Then  to  Jerry — 

"  Your  fortune  is  made,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  already 
made,"  he  said,  and  Jerry  started  from  his  visions  as 
if  some  hand  had  struck  him.  "  You  have  made  a 
most  wonderful  discovery,"  Mr.  Henshaw  went  on, — 
"  and  your  townspeople,  and  all  who  come  here,  should 
be  most  grateful  to  you,  for  I  understand  that  you 
entered  into  this  scheme  with  great  odds  against 
you." 

"  I  did,"  Jerry  answered  slowly,  "  but  all  is  in  my 
favor  now  ";  then  looking  up,  "  Have  you  shares  in  this 
venture  ? " 

Mr.  Henshaw  shook  his  head. 

"  I  had  nothing  to  invest,"  he  said  sadly. 

"  Let  me  lend  it  to  you  ? "  Jerry  rejoined  quickly, 
"  and  you  can  repay  me  at  your  leisure." 

"  Sir  !  "  stepping  back  in  his  astonishment,  "  Sir, 
are  you  in  earnest  ? "  and  the  workmen  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  questioningly — then  into  each  other's 
eyes  longingly  ;  they  had  shares,  but  if  only  they 
could  double  them  ! 


336  JERR  y. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  and  Jerry  turned  away;  "  I  have 
money  my  adopted  father  left  me,  and  I  shall  be  glad 
to  lend  it  to  you,"  and  the  men  looked  at  him  kindly : 
he  was  a  "  fair,  square  man,"  they  said  afterward  ;  he 
could  have  taken  double  shares  himself,  but  instead 
lent  the  money  to  a  poorer  man  ;  he  was  a  fair-deal- 
ing man,  a  man  they  could  depend  on. 

And  Mr.  Henshavv  felt  his  proper,  middle-aged 
heart  beating  hard  and  fast  under  the  shining  seams 
of  his  coat  :  he  could  build  a  little  house,  and  Sue 
and  the  children  could  come  out  !  His  mild  blue 
eyes  were  strangely  dim  behind  his  spectacles  as  he 
looked  after  Jerry  walking  back  and  up  to  the  black 
hole.  A  strange  "  mob-leader,"  he  thought,  a  strange 
disturber  of  the  peace, — and  an  honest  Communist  ! 
Surely  he  was  sharing  his  goods. 

And  in  his  report  warmer  words  were  said  of  the 
venture  than  ever  he  had  said  of  anything  in  his 
whole  visionless,  unenthusiastic  life  ;  and  the  Board 
felt  new  confidence  in  Burden's,  for  every  man  sent 
out,  from  the  keenest  to  the  dullest — from  the  most 
enthusiastic  to  the  most  prosaic — all  seemed  to  become 
imbued  with  perfect  faith  in  the  project,  and  in  the 
young  leader  Wilkerson. 

And  now  the  stock  ran  up  higher,  and  Jerry's  man 
of  business  had  orders  to  sell  out  all  his  other  invest- 
ments, and  to  put  all  the  proceeds  in  "Burden's"; 
and  Greg  told  his  father  that  he  could  not  invest  too 
largely  :  and  Mr.  Henshaw  bought  and  felt  his  life 
begin  afresh  ;  and  Burden's  rose  to  such  a  pitch  of 
enthusiasm  and  delight  that  people  almost  cheered 
Jerry  as  he  passed. 

Eureka  came  over  in  a  body,  settling  themselves 
anywhere  that  a  house  could  be  built  ;  selling  all  to 
buy  shares  in  the  mine,  and  privileges  in  the  Com- 
mune ;  and  the  doctor  rode  about  among  the  sick, 
lending  money  to  those  who  did  not  have  it  to  invest — 
and  watching  Jerry's  course  with  tired,  kind  eyes : 
and  Paul,  refusing  to  come  back  from  Engineer  Mills' 


JERRY.  337 

house  in  Eureka,  worked,  and  thought,  and  spent 
money  and  strength  to  build  up  Eureka — to  outdo 
Jerry  !  Once  more  the  "dirty  little  beggar  "  had  the 
best  of  it,  and  had  overcome  him  ;  but  life  was  all 
before  them  yet, — and  where  would  death  find 
them  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  But  O  blithe  breeze  !  and  O  great  seas, 

Though  ne'er — that  earliest  parting  past — 
On  your  wide  plain  they  join  again, 
Together  lead  them  home  at  last. 

One  port,  methought,  alike  they  sought, 
One  purpose  hold  where'er  they  fare, — 

O  bounding  breeze,  O  rushing  seas  ! 
At  last,  at  last,  unite  them  there." 

THE  weather  had  held  good  as  Jerry  had  expected, 
until  the  work  in  the  mine  was  well  under  way  ; 
the  railway  also  was  near,  for  building  on  the 
plain  was  easy  work  ;  the  town  of  Burden's  was 
spreading  up  the  mountain-side,  and  down,  and  out 
on  the  plain  ;  and  Eureka  seemed  dead,  save  for  one 
grog-shop.  Mr.  Henshaw  was  spending  most  of  his 
time  now  working  on  the  dam  that  kept  the  stream 
from  the  mine  ;  and  was  impressing  on  the  Commit- 
tee and  the  Company  the  grave  importance  of  keep- 
ing the  dam  in  perfect  order.  Once  let  that  stream 
break  through  into  its  old  channel,  and  the  mine 
would  be  flooded  to  a  ruinous  extent  :  for  now  all  the 
work  in  the  mine  was  on  a  level  far  below  the  old  bed 
of  the  stream,  and  all  the  new  shafts  and  tunnels 
would  have  to  be  filled  before  the  stream  could  find 
its  old  outlet  down  the  chasm.  And  Jerry  had  made 
a  speech  to  the  people  on  this  subject  that  had  caused 
their  pockets  to  feel  empty,  and  their  hearts  to  ache. 
For  himself,  he  dreamed  night  after  night  of  an  awful 
battling  with  overwhelming  floods  of  water  ;  waking 
with  cries  and  struggles  that  made  Mrs.  Milton  an- 
nounce to  her  gossips  that  "  Jerry  Wilkerson  air  the 
mos'  onres'lessis  creetur  as  ever  wuz,  an'  if  he  eats 

338 


JERRY,  339 

nothin'  or  no,  he's  allers  a-walkin'  aroun'  an'  a-hollerin' 
in  the  night." 

So  things  had  gone  until  now  the  open  weather 
seemed  over  ;  all  the  new  houses,  clean  and  tight,  and 
ready  for  occupation,  were  covered  with  a  light  fall  of 
snow  :  only  a  light  fall,  but  to  all  weather-wise  eyes 
the  low  clouds  promised  much  more  in  a  little  while. 
The  Committee  added  steadily  to  the  stacks  of  wood 
gathered  for  the  common  good,  and  all  the  people 
did  what  they  could  in  preparation,  for  it  was  proph- 
esied on  all  hands  that  the  winter,  though  late  in 
coming,  would  be  a  hard  winter — a  very  hard  winter. 
A  bright  December  made  always  a  black  January,  the 
old  people  said. 

It  was  Sunday,  but  Jerry  had  not  gone  to  the 
church,  as  usually  he  made  a  point  of  doing,  even 
if  no  better  man  than  Dan  Burk  or  Dave  Morris  was 
there  to  preach  to  him  ;  but,  instead,  he  was  going  to 
ask  the  doctor  to  come  to  Mrs.  Milton  ;  she  was  not 
well,  and  Jerry  had  volunteered  to  bring  the  doctor. 

He  had  not  been  down  that  road  for  months,  not 
since  he  had  gone  to  offer  his  services,  in  case  the 
doctor  needed  help.  That  had  been  in  the  spring  ; 
and  since  then  a  life  seemed  to  have  passed  ! 

Now  he  walked  slowly  ;  it  was  cold  and  still,  and 
all  the  town  seemed  dead  :  everybody  was  in  the 
church,  or  shut  safe  in  their  houses  ;  his  own  little 
house  that  he  used  as  an  office,  but  into  which  Mrs. 
Milton  had  begged  him  not  to  move  until  the  spring, 
was  shut  tight,  and  looked  desolate  ;  indeed,  lent  des- 
olation to  the  scene  as  he  caught  a  far  glimpse  of  it 
before  descending  the  hill  toward  the  doctor's.  Down 
the  long,  ugly  road  he  went,  then  turned  sharply 
across  the  gullies  and  rents  made  by  the  snows  and 
rains,  up  to  the  steps.  Nothing  had  changed  since 
his  first  visit  there,  as  a  child  :  all  was  the  same — no 
fence  had  been  built,  no  whitewash  nor  paint  had 
been  put  on  the  house  :  as  dark,  as  ugly  now  as  then, 
only  now  seeming  more  still. 


34°  JERR  Y. 

Slowly  Jerry  mounted  the  steps — slowly  took  his 
way  across  the  piazza,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  A 
step  came  down  the  hall — a  step  that  made  the 
color  mount  to  his  face,  and  Paul  opened  the 
door.  One  moment  they  eyed  each  other,  then 
Jerry  asked — 

"  Is  the  doctor  at  home  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  When  will  he  come  ? " 

"I  do  not  know";  then  more  curtly,  if  that  were 
possible — "  I  do  not  live  here,  perhaps  the  servants 
can  tell  you,"  and  shutting  the  door  he  went  back, 
and  Jerry  heard  him  call  the  doctor's  man,  then 
turn  aside  into  the  library.  Presently  the  servant 
came,  and  Jerry  saw  on  his  face  an  anxious  look. 

"  Doctor's  been  gone  since  yisterday — since  yister- 
day  evenin'  late,"  he  said. 

"  On  horseback  ?  "  Jerry  asked. 

"  No,  sir,  he  walked  off,"  and  Jim  scratched  his 
head  anxiously,  "he  hed  his  dinner,  an'  read  a  letter, 
an'  walked  off  without  sayin'  a  word — notter  word  ; 
an'  Mr.  Paul's  been  here  since  mornin'  nigh  crazy  to 
see  him." 

Jerry's  face  was  as  anxious  now  as  the  servant's  ; 
this  was  not  like  the  doctor  to  go  long  distances  on 
foot,  and  he  asked  slowly  : 

"  Where  did  this  letter  come  from  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  couldn't  read  the  mark  of  it,  but 
it  was  black  all  roun'  it :  I  had  it  a-waitin'  fur  him  a 
long  time,  an'  plum  disremembered  it  tell  he  was  done 
his  dinner,  then  I  give  it  to  him,  an'  he  took  it  like 
it  were  a  snake,  an'  he  went  to  the  liberry,  an'  after 
that  I  heard  him  go  out,  an'  he  aint  never  come  back." 

Jerry  leaned  against  the  door-post. 

"  Have  you  told  Mr.  Henley  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I  aint,  because  when  he  come  he  cussed  me 
black  an'  blue,  but  he  never  axed  me  nothin',  but 
he's  been  a-stompin'  roun'  in  the  liberry  consid'- 
abul." 


JERRY.  341 

Jerry  stood  still  a  moment,  then  drawing  a  long 
breath  straightened  himself  up. 

"  Tell  all  this  to  Mr.  Henley  at  once,"  he  said,  "  and 
say  that  I  have  gone  to  hunt  for  the  doctor — that  I 
have  gone  to  the  rock  over  the  mine, — the  doctor 
often  went  there." 

The  man  looked  aghast. 

"  But  all  night,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  all  night  !  "  he  said. 

Jerry  turned  away  quickly,  a  nameless  terror 
coming  over  him. 

"  You  tell  Mr.  Henley,"  he  repeated,  "  and  tell  him 
to  come  to  the  mine  ";  then  he  went  down  the  steps 
and  turned  toward  the  old  trail  that  led  past  Joe's 
house.  This  was  the  easiest  way  to  the  shelf  of  rock 
he  wished  to  find. 

What  news  had  come  in  that  letter  with  the  black 
edges.  What  news  had  come  to  make  Paul  stamp 
and  curse  ?  only  one  person  could  touch  them  both. 
He  paused  a  moment  in  his  rapid  walk  :  had  any- 
thing come  to  that  woman  ?  Faster  and  faster  he 
made  his  way  up  the  slippery  path,  scarcely  thinking 
what  it  was  that  made  him  come  to  this  place. 
Higher  and  higher,  while  the  low-drooping  clouds 
seemed  to  touch  him  with  their  shadowy,  cold  hands, 
and  in  their  folds  he  seemed  to  see  that  woman's 
patient  eyes  looking  out  on  him — eyes  that  looked 
as  if  they  had  shed  so  many  tears.  So  often  had 
he  gone  over  the  few  links  of  that  story,  that  at 
last  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  his  own  romance  :  had 
the  one  in  the  convent  died  ?  and  what  was  the 
mystery  that  lay  behind  ? 

Up,  past  the  ruins  of  Joe's  house,  past  the  broken 
tree  where  the  doctor  always  tied  his  horse  during  his 
few  visits — then  beyond,  and  down  the  narrow  path 
that  led  to  Jim  Martin's  house.  He  remembered  so 
well  the  first  time  he  had  come  here  to  get  hogs,and 
they  had  stopped  to  look  at  the  stream  that  fell  so 
far, — and  on  the  shelf  of  rock  they  had  seen  the  doc- 
tor. Often  in  the  years  that  had  passed  since,  Jerry 


342  JERRY. 

had  found  him  there,  and  many  times  since  the  open- 
ing of  the  mine,  looking  up  from  below  he  had  seen 
the  flutter  as  of  a  white  handkerchief,  and  knew 
that  the  doctor  was  there.  And  now  his  instinct 
had  brought  him  here  first,  sure  that  in  any  trouble 
it  was  to  this  quiet  place  the  doctor  would  come. 
And  the  last  time  he  saw  him — the  last  time  !  He 
shook  himself — what  nonsense  to  think  of  a  "  last 
time  "!  he  would  see  him  many  more  times — could  go 
to  him  in  his  success  and  say,  "  I  love  you,  Doctor, 
and  have  loved  you  always,  and  you  misunderstood 
the  stand  I  took  ";  then  the  doctor  would  clasp  his 
hand  so  kindly,  and  his  voice  would  soften  as  some- 
times in  the  old  days  it  had  done,  and  all  would  be 
well  between  them. 

It  was  fortunate  that  he  had  put  his  hand  on  that 
boulder — else  he  would  have  fallen  down  to  the 
mine's  mouth  ! 

He  stood  pale  and  trembling — what  was  missing  ? 
surely  he  had  always  stepped  down  just  there — surely  ? 
Something  was  gone,  and  some  low  bushes  and  vines 
seemed  to  have  been  pulled  up  by  the  roots,  and  some 
of  them  were  still  hanging — still  hanging  ! 

He  passed  his  hands  over  his  eyes — his  hands  that 
trembled  so  and  were  so  cold.  But  the  weather  was 
cold,  very  cold,  and  this  freeze  had  caused  the  thin 
slab  to  fall  ;  or  perhaps  the  jarring  of  the  work  in  the 
mine  ;  something  had  caused  this  rock  to  fall — this 
rock  that  had  been  there  yesterday  :  yes,  up  to  the 
time  when  the  workmen  left  the  mine,  for  he  remem- 
bered looking  up  and  seeing  it.  It  had  fallen  in  the 
night,  for  the  night  had  been  such  a  cold  one. 

His  thoughts  stopped,  his  heart  seemed  to  stop,  and 
he  leaned  against  the  rock  :  something  fluttered  from 
one  of  the  uprooted  bushes — something  that  until  this 
moment  he  had  not  seen  against  the  whiteness  of  the 
snow.  He  pressed  back  against  the  rock — he  looked 
up  at  the  low  gray  clouds — looked  all  about  him  over 
the  ghastly  world — looked  at  everything  save  the 


JERR  Y.  343 

white  token  which  the  sudden  flaw  of  wind  had  lifted, 
and  he  could  not  look  at  that  !  He  knew  what  it 
was — he  knew  whose  it  was. 

Then  he  straightened  himself  up  and  walked 
steadily  toward  the  loosely  hanging  bush,  and  un- 
tangled the  handkerchief  from  the  briers  that  held 
it:  it  had  been  a  perilous  act,  for  the  bush  hung  so 
far  over,  but  he  had  the  handkerchief  safe,  and  put  it 
in  the  breast  of  his  shirt  slowly.  He  sat  down  for  a 
moment,  for  his  head  seemed  going  round  and  round, 
and  he  wondered  if  it  would  be  safe  for  him  to  go  on. 
The  path  by  Jim  Martin's  house  was  very  steep,  and 
with  snow  on  the  ground  would  be  dangerous.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet — of  course  he  would  go  on — 
how  could  he  stop  to  question  it !  and  he  began  care- 
fully to  find  his  way  over  the  snow-covered  rocks 
down  the  steep  path.  There  was  smoke  coming  from 
Jim  Martin's  house,  and  a  face  watched  him  from  the 
window,  but  not  for  long,  it  was  too  cold  to  stay  near 
an  unglazed  window.  Down,  still  down  ;  he  had  not 
travelled  this  path  since  he  and  Joe  had  come 
together,  and  had  imagined  the  vision  of  'Lije  Milton. 
This  day  was  just  as  that  one  had  been,  gray  and 
cold,  with  the  ghastly  snow-clouds  hanging  low.  But 
it  was  harder  now  than  then  to  reach  the  mine's 
mouth,  for  now  there  were  huge  piles  of  debris  all 
about,  and  huge  timbers  waiting  to  be  put  in  place  : 
and  all  was  quiet  with  a  death-like  stillness,  save  for 
the  wind  that  came  in  gusts  up  the  gorge,  and  the 
stream  that  cried  as  it  fell  ! 

But  the  town,  scattered  up  and  down  the  sides  of 
the  gorge,  seemed  supernaturally  quiet.  He  stopped 
to  rest  for  a  moment,  for  he  was  very  tired,  and  the 
dizziness  was  returning ;  it  was  hard  work  climbing 
up  and  down  with  that  slippery  snow  under  foot,  and 
he  had  come  a  long  way  round,  and  had  come  rapidly. 

The  last  hillock  of  rubbish  was  reached,  and  he 
stopped  to  look  :  the  black  entrance  yawned  before 
him  ;  the  timbers  lay  about  just  as  he  had  seen  them 


344  JERRY. 

the  night  before,  and  the  snow  had  blown  a  little  way 
into  the  mine  :  that  was  all  he  saw. 

Nearer  he  crept,  with  ever  an  unanswered  wonder 
in  his  heart  as  to  why  he  crept — why  was  he  afraid — 
why  did  he  tremble. 

One  second's  pause — no  cry — no  exclamation,  only 
a  deadening  of  every  faculty — a  stiffening  of  every 
fiber! 

So  still  he  lay. 

Slowly,  as  one  walking  in  his  sleep,  Jerry  climbed 
down  the  rocks  that  slipped  from  under  his  feet 
with  a  noise  that  struck  sharply  on  the  silence  ; 
bounding  down,  and  down  as  if  they  were  alive  ;  and 
one — he  held  his  breath — how  far  it  was  rolling,  how 
far — on  and  on  until,  oh,  God  !  it  struck  him  lying 
there  so  still,  with  a  white  face  turned  to  the  sky — 
struck  him  dully  on  the  breast  ! 

How  Jerry  crossed  the  intervening  space  he  did  not 
know — what  need  to  know  ? — he  was  there  kneeling, 
crouching,  lifting  the  poor  cold  body,  drawing  it  up 
into  his  arms — brushing  the  snow  from  out  the  sil- 
vered hair  ! 

And  the  rock  he  took  from  off  the  pulseless  breast — 
he  would  break  it,  he  would  grind  it  to  dust,  for  it 
had  struck  his  friend  lying  dead  and  helpless  ! 

Dead  ?  dead,  and  cold  as  the  snow  that  lay  in  little 
lines  in  the  creases  of  his  coat,  and  in  his  hands  some 
dry  grasses,  and  a  leafless  twig — he  had  tried  to  save 
himself  ? 

He  drew  the  dead  man  closer  with  a  passionate, 
remorseful  strength  ;  how  had  such  an  awful  thought 
as  suicide  crept  into  his  mind.  The  rock  had  fallen 
with  him  ;  he  had  been  too  strong  for  such  a  thought 
as  self-destruction.  It  had  been  dark,  and  he  could 
not  see  to  save  himself,  and  had  caught  only  the  little 
grasses  and  the  tiny  twig.  Oh,  the  awful  horror  of 
that  fall — falling  in  the  black,  lonely  night  !  Had 
any  cry  gone  up  for  help  ? — gone  out  on  the  wild 
winds,  and  none  had  heard  it  ! 


JERRY.  345 

Jerry's  face  drooped  until  almost  it  touched  the 
dead  face  resting  on  his  shoulder  :  why  had  he  not 
made  his  peace  with  this  man  ? 

"  Oh,  God — oh,  God  !  "  he  whispered,  "  have 
mercy  !  " 

He  did  not  remember  then  that  this  man  had  let 
him  go  ;  he  remembered  only  his  love,  that  had  turned 
to  bitterness  in  his  heart,  and  now  had  become  bitter- 
ness that  would  never  die  ! 

He  started  a  little,  for  something  dropped  on  his 
leg  :  he  raised  his  friend  and  stretched  out  his  arm, 
leaning  over  to  see  :  a  dark  stain,  almost  black,  was 
on  the  sleeve  of  his  flannel  shirt,  and  on  his  trousers 
a  smaller  spot  that  shone  red  on  the  gray  of  the  rough 
jeans.  Blood — he  shivered  a  little  ;  then  he  saw  the 
great  gash  on  the  back  of  the  head  and  the  neck.  He 
laid  the  head  again  on  his  shoulder  :  why  should  he 
shiver  at  blood  that  had  pulsed  with  this  good  man's 
life  ;  the  blood  of  the  only  creature  that  he  loved  on 
earth  ! 

Again  the  blood  dropped,  and  Jerry's  weary,  racked 
mind  slipped  away  to  the  memory  of  the  water  that 
dropped  in  the  mine, — the  water  they  never  had 
found, — that  dropped  with  a  catch  in  its  fall  like  a 
sob. 

Did  Nature  weep  far  away  under  the  rocks  ;  weep 
her  tears  in  silence  where  no  eye  could  discover  them  ? 
weep  out  all  her  sorrow  for  the  beautiful  dead  years 
that  could  not  crown  her  with  their  glory  any  more  ? — 
the  beautiful  dead  years  that  had  spent  all  their  life 
and  strength  for  her.  Did  she  weep  for  them  in  the 
darkness  tears  like  the  tears  that  kill  humanity — tears 
that  never  leave  the  heart  ? 

He  did  not  remember  shedding  many  tears  ;  his 
mother  had  trained  him  not  to  cry  for  fear  of  his 
father,  and  he  could  not  remember  many  tears.  All 
his  sorrows  had  seemed  to  lie  still  in  his  heart  until 
they  died. 

He   looked   down   on   the  dead  face  :  this  sorrow 


346  JERR  Y. 

would  never  die.  His  head  seemed  to  swim  a  little  ; 
the  cold  wind  seemed  to  strike  through  him  like  a 
knife,  and  it  was  with  an  effort  that  he  kept  his  mind 
from  wandering.  All  sorts  of  vague  dreams  and 
half-memories  seemed  to  float  about  him,  and  the 
visions  he  had  lived  among  and  loved  through  all  the 
lonely  years  up  on  the  trail. 

Some  one  ought  to  come  ;  if  the  servant  had  given 
his  message,  Paul  ought  to  come.  Or  would  they 
leave  him  here  to  watch  with  the  dead  until  his  own 
blood  was  frozen  ?  Then  his  mind  slipped  off  again 
to  vague  wonderings  as  to  the  news  that  had  come  in 
the  letter  with  the  black  edges  ;  was  it  any  trouble 
that  had  come  to  the  woman  this  man  had  loved  so 
truly — any  trouble  for  her  that  had  hurt  him,  and 
made  him  come  out  to  the  darkness  and  stillness  for 
comfort  ? 

His  head  drooped  lower  :  he  was  so  cold  and  weary, 
and  the  women  were  all  in  the  church,  and  the  men  in 
Eureka,  and  there  were  good  fires  in  most  of  the 
houses,  good  fires. 

What  made  him  think  of  this  ?  he  was  losing  his 
mind,  and  freezing  to  death,  sitting  still  with  the  dead 
in  his  arms — freezing  to  death  ! 

If  only  his  tears  could  drop  as  the  blood  was  drop- 
ping, maybe  his  head  would  not  feel  so  heavy,  nor  his 
thoughts  wander  so  wildly. 

Ah,  there  was  a  step  !  Surely  no  rock  would  roll 
else  :  certainly  it  was  a  step,  and  a  hurried  one  :  would 
the  person  come  near  enough  to  see  him,  or  must  he 
call.  Call  with  the  dead  in  his  arms  ?  he  could  not 
do  it. 

He  watched  anxiously  as  a  hat,  and  then  a  face, 
appeared  above  the  nearest  hillock,  and  Paul  stood 
looking  down  on  him. 

For  an  instant  that  seemed  hours  they  stared  in  each 
other's -eyes — then  Jerry's  voice,  all  changed  and 
hoarse,  broke  the  stillness. 

"  I  found    him    here,"    he    said,  "  dead,"  and   he 


JERR  Y.  347 

pressed  the  white  face  against  his  breast  as  a  mother 
might  press  her  sleeping  child  ;  saying  the  words  made 
it  seem  so  much  more  real — made  his  mind  come  back 
from  its  desolate  wanderings. 

Then  Paul  climbed  down  slowly,  and  stood  beside 
him.  "  My  aunt  who  was  in  a  convent  died,"  he  said 
in  a  slow,  dazed  way,  "  and  the  shock  killed  my 
mother,  and  I  came  this  morning  to  tell  him." 

The  words  crept  slowly  into  Jerry's  mind  ;  the  one 
who  bound  them  had  died — and  her  death  had  killed 
the  one  who  longed  to  be  free. 

"  They  say  my  mother  had  heart  disease  ;  and  I 
came  to  tell  him,"  Paul  went  on  in  a  low,  unnatural 
voice. 

Jerry  pushed  the  hair  back  from  the  dead  man's 
forehead — of  course,  her  heart  was  broken — broken 
long  ago,  her  eyes  told  that. 

"  He  got  a  letter  with  black  edges,"  Jerry  said, 
"  your  servant  told  me  so." 

A  letter  with  black  edges  :  the  servant  had  told  him 
also,  but  he  had  forgotten  it  ;  a  letter  with  black 
edges  ;  so  his  guardian  had  known  the  news  first. 

A  strange  change  came  over  Paul's  face,  a  strange 
change  that  grew  in  his  eyes  as  he  faced  Jerry. 

Always  there  had  been  a  mystery  about  Paul's  life 
that  he  could  not  solve,  that  had  kept  him  watchful 
and  suspicious  always,  and' that  now  came  up  before 
him  :  why  had  he  been  given  to  this  man — why  had 
he  never  been  allowed  to  go  back  to  his  mother  for 
one  day  even  ?  And  now  she  was  dead,  and  this  man, 
hearing  it,  was  dead  also  ;  a  strange,  unaccountable 
death — was  there  any  connection  ?  What  right  had 
this  man  to  die  because  his  mother  had  died  ? 

Suddenly  he  became  conscious  that  Jerry  had  laid 
his  burden  down,  and  stood  before  him  with  eyes  that 
burned  and  glared  on  him,  and  Jerry's  hands  clutched 
his  shoulders  almost  to  pain! 

"  The  rock  fell  with  him,  do  you  not  see  it  ?  "  his 
voice  rising  to  a  sharp  cry  ;  "  look  there  in  his  hands 


34§  JERR  Y. 

where  he  tried  to  save  himself — look  !  "  and  he  pushed 
Paul  back  and  stooped  by  the  dead  man — "  look  here 
in  his  hands,  the  grass,  and  the  bush  he  caught  hold 
of ;  it  was  dark,  and  he  could  not  see,"  a  pleading, 
soothing  tone  coming  into  his  voice  as  he  looked 
down  on  the  dead  face,  "  he  could  not  see  to  catch 
a  rock — he  could  not  see,"  laying  the  cold  hand  down 
softly. 

But  Paul  did  not  answer  ;  he  stood  there  where 
Jerry  had  pushed  him,  still  and  white,  with  a  hard 
look  settling  on  his  face,  a  hard,  evil  look.  This  man 
he  had  looked  on  more  as  a  jailer  than  a  friend,  had 
no  right  to  die  now — no  right ! 

"  You  seem  to  have  had  that  same  thought  your- 
self," he  said  harshly,  but  stepped  back  as  he  spoke, 
for  Jerry  sprang  up  tall  and  straight  before  him,  with 
that  strange  light  in  his  eyes  that  had  gained  for  him 
the  reputation  of  a  man  who  would  kill  without  think- 
ing ! 

He  could  have  killed  Paul  with  one  blow — he  could 
have  shot  him,  for  instinctively  his  hand  clasped  the 
butt  of  his  pistol,  and  he  longed  to  kill  him — longed 
to  give  vent  to  the  wild  rage  that  surged  within  him  ; 
but  the  old  loyalty  to  the  doctor  held  him  still. 

The  gathered  jealousy  and  hatred  of  all  his  life 
seemed  tearing  at  his  heart — he  could  have  struck 
and  beaten  Paul  like  a  beast — he  seemed  to  hear  the 
blows  falling  dull  and  heavy  on  this  enemy — he  seemed 
to  see  the  beauty  bruised  and  driven  from  his  face  ! 
The  love  that  he  had  so  longed  for  all  his  life,  had 
had  been  given  to  this  false  creature — this  vile  creature 
who  now  cast  it  all  back  in  the  face  of  the  dead  :  who 
would  now  cast  black  suspicions  upon  a  defenseless 
grave  !  Death  was  too  good  for  this  creature  who 
trampled  on  a  never-failing  love — a  love  that  pro- 
tected him  now,  as  it  ever  had  done,  from  Jerry's 
anger. 

Further  back  still  Paul  retreated,  never  moving  his 
eyes  from  Jerry's  face  ;  his  own  face  was  white,  and 


349 

his  heart  beat  tumultuously — had  he  roused   a  mad- 


man ? 

But  Jerry  did  not  touch  him  ;  not  any  more  now 
than  he  would  have  done  when  the  doctor  was  with 
them  ;  it  would  be  treachery.  But  he  could  tell  him 
all  the  scorn  he  felt  for  him  ;  he  could  accuse  him  of 
the  lies  he  had  loved  and  made  to  separate  him  from 
his  only  friend  ;  could  curse  him! 

And  the  awful  words  fell  deliberately  from  his  dry 
lips — the  awful  words  that  seemed  to  throb  through 
Paul's  brain,  and  to  ring  and  echo  through  the  cold, 
dead  silence — would  he  never  stop  ? 

To  Jerry  his  words  seemed  like  blows  he  was  hurl- 
ing at  this  man — oh,  if  only  they  would  follow  him 
forever  !  "  And  I  shall  listen,"  stepping  close  to  Paul 
who  now  was  braced  against  the  cliff,  "  I  shall  listen 
with  every  faculty  I  have,  and  if  ever  I  hear  a  whisper 
that  he  died  in  any  way  save  by  an  accident,  I  will  kill 
you  like  a  dog — I  will  beat  and  stamp  the  life  out  of 
you — now  remember  that." 

And  Paul  answered  slowly  : 

"  There  is  Greg  behind  you,  and  he  has  heard 
you." 

There  was  a  sharp,  short,  gasping  sigh,  and  Jerry 
turned  on  his  heel  to  see  Greg  and  the  doctor's  ser- 
vant standing  behind  him.  How  the  scene  and  his 
words  might  strike  them  never  entered  Jerry's  mind  ; 
his  only  thought  was  to  prevent  any  surmise  on  their 
part  like  that  he  had  seen  in  Paul's  eyes  ;  and  he  ap- 
proached them  quickly. 

"  The  rock  fell  with  him,"  he  said  hastily,  pointing 
up  to  where  the  fresh  break  showed  clear  on  the  cliff, — 
"  see  all  the  pieces  about  him,  and  the  grass  and  twigs 
in  his  hands  ?  " 

Greg  looked  anxiously  from  one  to  the  other  as  the 
eager  explanation  went  on,  then  down  at  the  dead  man, 
and  at  the  blood  on  Jerry's  clothes. 

"  And  he  struck  his  head,"  Jerry  went  on,  gently 
raising  the  dead  man  in  his  arms.  And  Greg  could 


35°  JERRY. 

see,  as  Jerry  held  the  body,  how  the  blood  had  gotten 
on  him  ;  and  the  snow  had  gathered  in  the  dead  man's 
clothes — yes,  the  rock  must  have  fallen  with  him. 
And  now  he  could  remember  that  one  day  he  had  seen 
the  doctor  standing  up  there  and  looking  out ;  and 
he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  a  dreadful  suspicion 
lifted  from  his  mind  ;  a  dreadful  suspicion  that  Paul 
had  seen,  but  that  Jerry  had  not  dreamed  of.  No 
thought  of  suicide  had  dawned  on  Greg's  mind  ;  what 
he  had  first  seen,  and  the  words  he  had  heard  from 
Jerry,  had  filled  his  thoughts  with  but  one  idea — 
murder. 

And  Paul  had  seen  the  thought  ;  and  Paul  knew 
he  was  the  only  living  creature  who  could  refute  it  ! 
But  now  Paul  saw  that  Greg's  mind  was  clear  of  the 
doubt,  and  on  his  face  was  only  the  deepest  sorrow. 

And  Jerry,  kneeling  by  the  doctor's  body,  looked 
up  into  Greg's  eyes  questioningly.  Then  the  servant 
told  his  story,  making  it  still  clearer  to  Greg  that  Jerry 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  tragedy  :  and  Paul  found 
the  black-edged  letter  in  the  doctor's  pocket,  a  short 
note  from  Paul's  sister  telling  the  sad  news,  and 
asking  that  Paul  and  the  doctor  would  come  to  her 
immediately. 

"  He  and  my  father  were  friends,"  Paul  said  slowly, 
and  Jerry  stooped  low  over  the  mute,  dead  lips. 

Then  the  servant  was  sent  to  bring  help  ;  and  the 
three  men  sat  watching  with  the  dead. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

"  Life  crowded  on  him,  and  the  days  that  swept 
Relentlessly  all  trust  and  love  from  out  his  heart. 
Where  could  he  put  his  faith,  where  clasp  a  hand, 
That  would  not  turn  against  him  if  occasion  called." 

u  \7OU  will  have  to  be  very  cautious  and  very 
J[  watchful,"  and  Greg  paused  in  his  idle  whit- 
tling of  the  table  ;  "  Henley  is  bitterly  opposed 
to  you,  and  only  has  been  held  from  molesting  you 
and  your  plans  by  the  positive  orders  of  the  doctor  ; 
I  found  this  out  when  I  was  surveying  in  Eureka." 

"  Do  you  think  Henley  will  use  unfair  means  to 
hurt  me  ? "  and  Jerry  rose  and  leaned  against  the 
chimney. 

Greg  stuck  his  knife  up  in  the  table  once  or  twice 
thoughtfully,  not  looking  up. 

"  I  do  not  like  Henley,"  he  answered  cautiously. 

Then  Jerry  put  on  his  hat,  and  Greg  went  to  the 
door  with  him. 

"  I  will  watch  and  listen  for  you,"  he  said  rather 
hurrtedly,  "  and  will  warn  you  ;  but  do  not  trust  any 
one." 

"  Thanks,"  and  Jerry  stepped  out  into  the  black 
night  and  biting  wind  :  he  took  off  his  hat  to  the 
cold  air  and  drew  a  long  breath — he  felt  as  one 
standing  in  front  of  a  desperate  battle  ! 

For,  though  estranged,  he  found  that  through  all 
the  doctor  had  protected  him  against  Paul, who  now 
stood  revealed  as  an  enemy  whose  strength  and  bitter- 
ness could  not  be  measured.  And  the  last  time  they 
had  spoken  together,  that  dreadful  day  down  at  the 
mine,  he  had  cursed  Paul  with  unexampled  fury,  and 
had  done  it  for  the  sake  of  a  man  who  in  his  death 

35i 


35 2  JERRY. 

had  struck  him  the  crudest  blow  that  the  most  careful 
malice  could  have  designed. 

It  had  not  been  designed,  he  could  reason  that  out ; 
still  his  heart  grew  hard  as  he  remembered,  and 
said  to  himself,  "  It  was  only  a  piece  of  the  doctor's 
cold,  careful  wisdom." 

It  had  been  a  great  pain  to  him  that  the  doctor 
had  died  estranged  from  him,  and  that  the  people 
should  know  this,  and  so  think  it  all  right  that  Paul 
should  arrange  everything  for  the  honoring  of  the 
dead  ;  that  even  strangers  should  be  called  in  and  he 
shut  out.  It  had  hurt  him  deeply,  and  when  after 
the  funeral  Engineer  Mills  had  asked  all  the  company 
to  return  with  him  to  the  doctor's  house,  as  the  will 
was  to  be  read,  Jerry  had  turned  away,  until  stopped 
by  a  special  message  that  he  should  be  wanted.  Then 
he  had  followed  the  crowd,  angry  when  he  saw  them 
hustling  and  jostling  into  the  empty  house  that  to  him 
was  sacred  ;  then  crowding  out  again  as  the  will  was 
to  be  read  on  the  piazza,  where  all  could  hear  it,  he 
among  the  rest.  It  had  been  hard,  and  had  grown 
doubly  so  toward  the  end, — almost  too  hard. 

Twenty-four  hours  ago  it  had  happened,  yet  Jerry 
could  see  still  the  gaping  crowd  looking  black  against 
the  snowy  background  ;  still  could  hear  them  stamping 
with  dull  thuds  to  keep  their  feet  warm — stamping  that 
ceased  as  Engineer  Mills  read  aloud  a  little  note  from 
the  doctor,  appointing  that  the  chief  man  of  the  towns 
should  read  the  will  aloud  to  the  people,  and  see  that 
it  was  carried  into  effect  honestly.  And  then  the 
murmur  that  had  swept  up  from  the  crowd — 

"  Mr.  Wilkerson — Mr.  Wilkerson  !  "  Yes,  he  was 
the  chief  man  of  the  towns — it  was  his  glory  brought 
him  pain  !  It  had  seemed  a  most  cruel  sarcasm,  but 
the  bitterness  of  the  moment  brought  him  strength, 
and  when  Mr.  Mills  called  to  him,  and  the  crowd 
parted  to  let  him  mount  the  steps,  he  went  forward 
without  a  second's  pause  and  joined  the  group  on  the 
piazza. 


JERRY.  353 

And  the  men  on  the  piazza,  knew  what  was  in  the 
will,  and  watched  him  as  he  read — he  could  feel  them 
watching. 

It  was  short  enough, — a  clear,  concise  statement 
that  the  doctor  had  cast  his  fortune  in  with  the  people 
of  Eureka  and  Burden's,  and  sincerely  wished  for 
their  success  and  prosperity,  in  proof  of  which  he 
now  left  all  his  property  to  endow  a  free  school  for 
the  children  of  the  miners  of  both  towns,  and  a  home 
for  the  widows  and  orphans  of  the  same  ;  that  the 
tract  of  land  he  had  bought,  had  been  bought  with 
this  end  in  view:  it  was  surveyed  in  suitable  lots,  that 
were  to  be  rented,  and  all  rents  used  for  the  purposes 
above  mentioned.  That  trustees  and  guardians  had 
been  appointed  for  the  property,  the  mayor,  or  chief 
man  of  the  towns,  being  always  chairman  of  the 
same. 

That -was  all  :  not  a  word  of  the  distrust  the  people 
had  shown  him  ;  no  mention  of  his  difficulties  and 
disappointments  ;  a  fair,  free  gift  to  the  towns,  and 
Jerry  to  see  it  given  ! 

He  had  read  it  all  through  clearly,  slowly,  dis- 
tinctly ;  and  in  the  silence  that  followed,  a  silence  so 
intense  tKat  he  seemed  to  hear  it,  he  said  no  word. 
He  stood  there  white  and  still,  and  folded  the  paper 
carefully,  and  the  crowd  watching  him  seemed  scarcely 
to  breathe. 

He  would  not  speak  of  the  misunderstandings  and 
mistakes  of  the  last  few  months,  any  more  than  the 
dead  man  had  spoken  ;  and'  the  silence  hung  about 
them  like  death.  Then  there  was  a  little  movement, 
and  he  heard  Greg  speaking  to  the  crowd  and  ex- 
plaining what  had  been  done  for  them — that  widows 
and  orphans  would  never  suffer  want  again,  and  that 
education  would  be  free  to  all.  Then  the  crowd  sepa- 
rated and  went  away  quietly  to  their  homes  ;  and  Mr. 
Mills  told  Jerry  that  he  would  send  him  all  papers 
relating  to  the  property  and  put  him  in  communica- 
tion with  the  trustees.  Only  twenty-four  hours  ago 


354  JERR  Y. 

all  this  had  happened.  He  walked  wearily  up  to  his 
room :  his  burden  seemed  too  great.  For  some 
noble  end  men  might  strive  like  this  ;  but  he  had  let 
go  his  aspirations,  and  his  highest  motive  had  come 
to  be  the  excelling  of  an  enemy  :  could  he  sink  any 
lower  ?  There  was  one  lower  depth — he  could  sell 
secretly  and  leave  in  the  lurch  all  who  had  trusted 
him. 

He  threw  himself  face  down  across  his  bed  ;  he 
despised  himself,  and  realized  a  dreadful  self-abase- 
ment that  galled  him  every  moment  he  lived. 

And  yet,  the  highest  he  had  known  had  let  him  go 
astray.  His  heart  hardened  within  him  :  what  use  to 
love  or  trust  ?  Old  Joe,  whom  he  had  not  loved,  loved 
him  ;  had  been  faithful  to  him.  And  this  love  he  had 
won  he  had  not  cared  for — and  the  love  he  had  longed 
for,  he  had  not  won. 

The  only  eyes  he  need  please  now  were  the  eyes  of 
the  world  ;  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  money  was 
the  highest  good  :  the  world  grown  greedy  and  sordid 
in  its  old  age.  Money  bought  love,  and  honor,  and 
power,  and  friendship,  and  souls,  and  bodies  ;  and 
the  free  and  enlightened  Nineteenth  Century  saw 
more  slavery  and  subjection  than  any  other  age  of 
the  world.  And  he,  he  could  not  serve,  he  must  rule — 
he  must  have  money  ! 

And  to-day  a  new  fear  had  come  to  him,  and  he 
realized  that  the  money  he  had  so  longed  for, — the 
money  that  when  he  found  it  had  seemed  salvation  to 
him, — this  money  had  become  a  terror  ! 

Paul  Henley  had  that  day  gone  East,  and  intended 
spending  the  rest  of  the  winter  there.  Nobody  could 
know  what  possibilities  to  Jerry  lay  hidden  in  this 
simple  announcement  that  Greg  had  made  to  him.  A 
few  weeks  or  a  month  would  not  have  been  such  a 
risk,  for  Paul  would  have  been  too  busy  settling  his 
own  affairs  to  trouble  himself  with  the  transactions  of 
other  people  ;  but  the  whole  winter  would  leave  him 
much  unoccupied  time. 


JERRY.  355 

And  yet  what  had  Jerry  done  that  he  need  fear 
being  found  out  ?  He  had  only  invested  money  that 
had  been  left  to  him, — this  was  all  he  had  done.  But 
he  had  no  proof  of  this  ;  he  had  not  told  any  one  at 
the  time  ;  he  had  not  shown  any  one  all  the  curious 
places  in  which  this  treasure  had  been  hidden  ;  for 
then  a  vague  fear  had  possessed  him  that  once  let 
Joe's  fortune  be  known,  and  claims  would  be  put  in 
against  it  as  having  been  taken  from  another  man's 
property  ;  and  this  fear  had  proved  true. 

He  had  known  that  Dan  Burk  had  at  all  times  been 
aware  of  Joe's  place  of  work  ;  and  after  Joe's  death 
he  felt  that  Dan  Burk  watched  him  ;  what  he  did  not 
know  was  that  at  one  time  Dan  Burk  had  shared  Joe's 
spoils,  so  giving  him  a  hold  otfer  Burk.  At  the  open- 
ing of  the  mine  Burk  had  revealed  to  him  Joe's  secret, 
which  revelation  had  confirmed  his  worst  fears.  And 
now  once  let  Burk  know  that  Joe  had  left  a  fortune, 
and  he  would  either  claim  hush-money,  so  holding 
Jerry  always  in  subjection  ;  or  he  would  tell  the  secret 
and  ruin  him.  Jerry  had  not  known  all  this  at  first, 
but  he  had  known  enough  to  make  him  very  cautious, 
and  he  had  had  what  was  a  still  stronger  motive  for 
secrecy — a  great  longing  for  the  money  !  And  this 
longing  was  what  had  made  a  coward  of  him,  and  was 
the  net  that  had  closed  about  him. 

A  year  ago  he  would  have  told  the  doctor  what  he 
had  found,  and  have  dealt  justly  by  all  ;  if  Joe  had 
done  wrong,  he  would  have  righted  it  ; — a  year  ago 
when  no  evil  passions  had  been  roused  in  him  ;  when 
he  was  strong  in  his  carelessness  of  men's  opinions, 
and  the  world's  honors. 

Now — and  his  heart  seemed  to  grow  cold  within  him 
as  he  realized  his-own  position  ;  now,  Paul  Henley,  his 
declared  enemy,  had  gone  to  the  East ;  what  would 
prevent  his  hearing  of  Jerry's  riches  ;  what  would 
prevent  his  searching  and  finding  out  all  that  Jerry 
owned,  and  raising  ugly  stories  as  to  the  sources  of 
his  wealth  ?  A  man  who  handled  public  money  lay 


356  JERRY. 

open  always  to  suspicion  and  attack,  and  for  a  man  in 
such  a  position  to  be  discovered  suddenly  to  have  a 
large  fortune,  was  a  black  enough  story. 

And  Paul  would  sow  distrust  in  the  East  by  declar- 
ing Jerry  a  poor  man  ;  and  distrust  in  Burden's  by 
telling  of  Jerry's  possessions.  Paul  would  not  now 
hesitate. 

Jerry  got  up  hurriedly  and  went  to  the  window  ; 
he  must  have  fresh  air ;  he  must  shake  off  these  dread- 
ful forebodings,  or  lose  his  mind  ! 

All  his  accounts  with  the  town  had  been  read  to  the 
committee,  and  put  on  record  ;  would  not  that  prove 
his  innocence  ? 

Dan  Burk  knew  that  Joe  had  been  saving  all  his 
life  ;  would  not  that  be  proof  as  to  the  source  of  his 
wealth  ?  Aye,  too  sure  a  proof  ;  a  proof  that  would 
let  in  claims  for  all  his  fortune  !  The  Burden's  heirs 
who  he  knew  were  still  living  somewhere,  and  who 
had  sold  the  mine  to  'Lije  Milton,  they  could  present 
claims — and  Mrs.  Milton  would  own  all  that  was  left. 

But  now,  when  he  needed  all  his  strength  and  de- 
termination ;  now,  when  the  struggle  was  growing 
harder,  and  the  plot  more  intricate,  he  must  not  flinch. 
He  could  not  go  back  ;  there  was  no  retreat  that 
would  not  end  in  ruin  of  character  or  fortune  :  there 
was  no  explanation  that  would  not  weaken  his  position 
most  terribly.  He  must  be  careful  hereafter  to  have 
a  witness  for  every  transaction  to  which  he  was  party  ; 
to  this  extent  he  could  and  would  guard  himself ;  and, 
for  the  rest,  must  wait  until  the  attack  came. 

This  was  all  he  could  do  ;  there  was  no  avoiding 
the  daily  anxiety  ;  there  was  no  way  of  pushing  aside 
this  new  fear  ;  no  way  of  lessening  the  strain  on  mind 
or  body  ;  and  there  was  only  one  comfort  he  had, — it 
was  the  knowledge  that  failure  would  kill  him  ! 

The  terrible  tension  of  always  watching — always 
fearing — always  suspecting  ;  the  hard  work  by  day 
and  by  night  ;  the  absence  of  any  creature  in  whom 
he  could  confide,  this  would  wear  him  out  even  if 


JERRY.  357 

at  the  end  he  were  successful  :  if  he  failed,  then 
he  knew  the  string  must  snap. 

He  shut  the  window  slowly,  as  one  who  had  faced 
and  weighed  all  the  dangers  about  him,  and  had  made 
his  own  course  clear  to  himself ;  had  realized  all  to 
the  end.  There  was  no  need  of  hurry  even  in  the 
shutting  of  a  window  :  his  work  and  his  path  were 
plain  before  him,  and  behind  him  an  immutable  Fate 
born  of  his  own  deeds  ! 

He  stirred  the  fire  to  a  brighter  blaze,  turned  the 
lamp  up,  and  sat  down  to  his  table,  where  lay  a  pile  of 
papers  relating  to  the  doctor's  property,  which  Mr. 
Mills  had  sent  that  afternoon.  His  heart  throbbed 
a  little  faster  when  he  first  looked  at  the  familiar 
writing.  But  he  put  aside  the  memories  ;  they  were 
not  his  any  more,  and  it  was  with  anger  that  he  re- 
membered the  remorse  he  had  felt  when  Ire  found  his 
friend  dead,  and  peace  not  made  between  them.  He 
had  been  only  a  duty  to  the  doctor,  not  a  love  ;  the 
end  proved  this. 

His  mind  was  clear  and  quiet  now,  and  he  went 
over  document  after  document,  making  notes  and 
memoranda,  then  gathering  his  materials  together 
composed  a  letter  to  his  co-workers  in  this  bequest. 

He  told  them  that  having  been  educated  by  the 
doctor,  he  thought  he  could  give  them  a  clear  idea  of 
the  system  on  which  he  would  like  the  school  carried 
out ;  that  having  taught  in  Eureka  himself,  he  knew 
that  this  system  would  answer.  He  then  went  on  to 
state  his  views  as  to  the  present  and  future  values  of 
the  doctor's  property  in  Eureka,  including  the  shares 
held  in  the  Eureka  Mine  ;  giving  them  the  present 
condition  of  the  towns,  and  their  prospects  ;  and  the 
present  and  probable  future  cost  of  building. 

A  clear,  succinct  letter  that  caused  a  meeting  of  the 
three  trustees,  and  many  inquiries  as  to  this  Jeremiah 
P.  Wilkerson.  Inquiries  that  widened  out  until  they 
penetrated  the  inner  circle  of  moneyed  men-,  and  Jerry 
was  reported  as  a  man  of  solid  means. 


35 8  JERRY. 

After  this,  Paul  was  asked  to  meet  these  gentle- 
men :  after  failing  them  many  times  he  came  at  last, 
but  with  his  temper  unimproved  by  the  examination  of 
his  mother's  affairs  and  property.  His  sister  Edith, — 
whom  he  found  not  to  be  his  sister,  but  his  first 
cousin,  the  daughter  of  the  aunt  who  had  died  in  the 
convent,  and  who  had  been  adopted  by  his  father  and 
given  the  name  of  Henley  ;  she  had  a  large  prop- 
erty— but  he  had  little  or  nothing  :  further  he  found, 
to  his  exceeding  disappointment  and  surprise,  that  he 
had  inherited  nothing  from  his  guardian.  He  had 
not  realized  this  before  he  left  Burden's,  for  the  only 
will  found  there  was  the  one  giving  the  Burden's  and 
Eureka  property  to  the  towns  ;  and  a  memorandum 
referring  them  to  his  lawyer  in  the  East  for  further 
information  as  to  his  affairs.  So  Paul  came  East  with 
high  hopes.  Of  course  there  was  city  property,  and 
high  rents  all  to  be  his,  and  visions  of  himself  as 
a  rich  man  floated  fair  before  his  eyes. 

But  the  visions  had  come  to  nothing. 

He  felt  an  unreasoning  anger  against  the  poor  of 
Burden's  and  Eureka,  who  seemed  to  have  defrauded 
him  ;  for  he  found  that  the  doctor  had  sold  every- 
thing to  buy  the  great  tract  of  land  which  had 
caused  such  a  stir,  and  had  changed  so  many  lives. 

A  wild,  mad  scheme,  Paul  called  it,  that  had  left 
him  scarcely  enough  to  live  on  :  he  thought  that  at 
least  the  doctor  might  have  left  him  the  management 
of  the  property,  and  the  small  salary  which  would  ac- 
crue therefrom  ;  but  even  this  went  to  Jerry, — Jerry 
whom  he  hated,  Jerry  who  had  been  so  successful. 

And  meeting  the  trustees  in  this  frame  of  mind,  he 
had  to  listen  to  Jerry's  letter,  so  clear  and  strong,  and 
to  praises  of  the  writer  expressed  in  slow,  precise  lan- 
guage by  these  mighty  men,  who  seemed  willing  to  leave 
the  whole  property  in  the  hands  of  their  "  competent 
fellow-trustee." 

"  Whose  wealth  and  business  qualities,"  they  said, 
"  as  well  as  the  high  esteem  in  which  he  is  held  in 


JERRY.  359 

business  circles,  make  us  feel  sure  that  he  will  manage 
this  great  property  with  honesty  and  skill." 

Paul  sat  still  ;  did  he  hear  aright  ?  Were  these 
men  talking  of  the  Wilkerson  whom  he  knew  ? 

And  he  asked  what  seemed  to  them  a  silly 
question  :  "  Do  you  mean  the  Wilkerson  from 
Durden's  ? " 

The  three  old  men  looked  at  him  from  over  their 
glasses,  and  the  eldest  answered  : 

"  Of  course,  Mr.  Henley  ;  the  same  Mr.  Wilkerson 
whom  your  guardian  educated  ;  you  must  have 
known  him  all  your  life  :  the  same  Mr.  Wilkerson  of 
whom  Mr.  Charles  T.  Greg,  one  of  the  most  solid  men 
in  the  city,  speaks  in  the  highest  terms  ;  of  course 
you  know  him,  this  man  who  has  risen  from  the 
people  to  the  highest  respect  and  esteem,  and  whose 
success, — material,  moneyed  success, — is  well  known 
on  Wall  Street." 

Jerry  Wilkerson  in  Wall  Street — Jerry  Wilkerson  a 
moneyed  success — Jerry  Wilkerson  indorsed  by  a  man 
like  Charles  Greg  !  His  guardian  had  told  him  noth- 
ing of  this — Jerry  had  not  whispered  it.  And  Paul 
felt  himself  in  the  heart  of  a  mystery,  and  walked 
home  slowly,  and  questioned  Edith  Henley  closely  as  to 
all  she  knew  or  heard  of  Jerry.  Then  to  Mr.  Greg — 
then  to  Wall  Street — day  after  day  following  closely 
in  the  track  of  his  successful  rival.  And  as  he  went 
the  mystery  deepened  :  it  took  him  a  long  time,  for 
he  had  to  seem  to  know  it  all,  and  so  had  to  grasp  a 
few  facts  before  he  could  pretend  with  any  success. 
He  was  several  minutes  in  placing  the  "  Mr.  Gilliam  " 
spoken  of  with  such  respect  ;  the  "  Mr.  Gilliam  "  who 
had  requested  Mr.  Greg  to  give  his  adopted  son  Wil- 
kerson unlimited  credit,  and  who  had  paid  all  notes 
and  bills  with  remarkable  promptness  ;  and  Mr.  Greg 
had  been  very  sorry  to  hear  of  his  sudden  death. 

Old  Joe  Gilliam  !  the  surprise  was  too  great,  and 
Paul  had  to  remember  suddenly  an  engagement,  and 
was  obliged  to  leave  Mr.  Greg. 


3^0  JERR  Y. 

"Yes,  Gilliam's  death  had  been  sudden;  but  he 
would  call  again  if  Mr.  Greg  would  allow  him." 

Old  Joe  Gilliam  giving  Jerry  unlimited  credit — and 
Paul  walked  three  blocks  in  a  driving  snow-storm  be- 
fore he  took  in  fully  this  piece  of  information,  or 
remembered  that  there  were  such  things  as  cabs. 

And  from  all  he  could  hear,  Jerry  had  not  spared 
money.  Edith  spoke  of  him  always  as  a  rich  man, 
and  represented  the  doctor  as  looking  on  Jerry  in  the 
same  light. 

"  The  doctor  said  Mr.  Wilkerson  was  already  rich, 
and  would  be  in  time  among  the  richest  men  in  the 
country,"  Edith  said  one  day,  but  she  did  not  look  up 
from  her  embroidery,  so  did  not  see  Paul's  face  ;  but 
a  valuably-hideous  cup  fell  from  a  stand  with  a  little 
crash  as  she  finished,  and  she  wondered  that  Paul 
seemed  so  angry  about  it,  and  swore  so  openly  as  he 
picked  up  the  pieces.  Paul  had  lost  some  of  his 
polish  in  the  West,  and  it  grieved  her. 

Paul's  life, meanwhile,  was  becoming  almost  unbear- 
able ;  he  realized  his  inability  to  cope  with  Jerry,  and 
had  not  only  to  listen  to  commendations  of  him  when- 
ever his  name  was  mentioned,  but  was  allowed  to  see 
that  some  of  the  attention  he  received  was  due  to 
his  supposed  brotherly  connection  with  Jerry,  whom 
people  imagined  he  must  love,  as  they  had  been  edu- 
cated by  the  same  man.  And  he  had  to  bear  in 
silence,  day  after  day,  all  the  slow  suffering  born  of 
his  hatred  for  this  man  ;  suffering  that  can  not  be 
measured, — can  not  be  equaled:  the  suffering  born  of 
hatred  is  the  only  suffering  for  which  there  is  no 
balm  ! 

It  was  working  through  all  his  nature,  this  hatred  ; 
a  dreadful  corroding  rust  that  was  destroying  his 
heart  and  soul ;  that  turned  his  blood  to  gall.  And 
his  anger  grew  deeper  when  he  heard  Isabel  Greg's 
name  coupled  with  Jerry's,  and  the  invariable  com- 
ment— "  Of  course  the  Gregs  will  forward  the  match, 
as  Mr.  Wilkerson  is  so  rich." 


JERRY.  361 

So  rich  !  and  nobody  in  Eureka  or  in  Burden's  had 
heard  a  rumor  of  it  ! 

And  he  would  sit  for  long  hours  pondering  on  this 
strange  revelation.  If  it  had  been  a  moderate  sum 
that  was  named,  Paul  could  have  understood  how  old 
Gilliam  might  have  saved  it  ;  but  when  he  heard  of 
"  unlimited  credit,"  and  heard  Fred  Greg  tell  with 
much  admiration  of  the  "plucky  way  in  which  Wilker- 
son  had  run  up  the  Burden's  stock,"  and  of  the  "  large 
amount  he  carried,"  the  question  became  one  that 
Paul  could  not  solve. 

Where  had  this  money  come  from  ?  Jerry  had 
been  decently  dressed  always,  and  never  had  seemed 
to  have  anything  to  do  but  to  study  and  read  in  the 
doctor's  library  ;  and  Paul  had  come  to  know,  some- 
how, that  old  Gilliam  supported  a  poor  woman  in  the 
village,  instead  of  paying  the  doctor  for  Jerry's  educa- 
tion. And  until  now  these  things  had  never  seemed 
strange  to  him,  now  when  from  a  distance  he  looked 
back  and  saw  the  great  difference  there  had  been  in 
Joe's  action  toward  this  boy  he  had  picked  up,  and  the 
actions  of  his  class  toward  even  their  own  children  : 
of  course  Joe  must  have  had  money  to  be  able  to  do 
all  this,  yet  this  had  never  occurred  to  Paul  before. 

But  this  fact,  having  been  established  in  Paul's 
mind,  did  not  advance  him  in  the  least  in  the  solving 
of  the  problem  as  to  where  Joe  got  his  money. 

He  could  not  remember  that  he  had  ever  heard 
Joe  spoken  of  either  as  a  miner,  or  a  special  worker  of 
any  kind  ;  indeed,  as  he  looked  back  he  found  that 
he  had  never  heard  anything  of  Joe  Gilliam  except 
that  he  had  found  Jerry  lying  on  the  trail  half  dead, 
and  had  adopted  him.  He  had  accepted  old  Gilliam 
as  one  of  the  facts  of  the  place  ;  something  that  had 
been  there  always — had  been  there  even  before  the 
doctor  moved  there,  which  seemed  to  Paul  like  some 
event  back  in  the  middle  ages. 

Then  his  thoughts  would  slip  away  to  the  strange 
features  in  his  own  life.  He  had  found  no  papers  to  tell 


362  JERRY. 

him  anything,  and  if  any  ever  had  existed  they  had 
been  destroyed  most  carefully.  In  the  doctor's  pos- 
session he  had  found  two  pictures,  one  that  he  recog- 
nized as  his  mother,  only  younger  and  fairer  than 
ever  he  had  known  her;  and  the  other  not  so  regularly 
beautiful,  but  a  brighter  and  more  girlish  face,  and  on 
the  back  the  name  "  Edith  Henley " — this  was  his 
aunt  then,  Edith's  mother  who  had  died  in  a  convent. 

He  had  put  the  pictures  aside,  unable  to  understand 
how  they  had  come  into  the  possession  of  his  guar- 
dian ;  photographs  might  have  been  explained,  but 
carefully  executed  miniatures  told  a  different  story ; 
his  own  banishment  to  the  care  of  this  same  man  had 
puzzled  him  always,  especially  when  he  remembered 
his  mother's  tears,  and  his  father's  stern,  harsh  orders; 
stern  and  harsh  even  though  he  was  dying. 

He  hated  mysteries,  and  would  sigh  most  impa- 
tiently ;  then  return  on  the  old  track — "  Where  had 
Jerry  gotten  his  money  ?  " 

He  became  quite  friendly  with  the  Gregs,  almost 
intimate  ;  he  won  the  entire  confidence  of  the  three 
trustees  of  his  guardian's  property  ;  then  by  a  free  use 
of  the  doctor's  and  Jerry's  names,  and  by  means  of 
Mr.  Greg's  patronage,  he  won  his  way  gradually 
among  the  directors  of  the  "  Eureka,  Burden's,  and 
the  Great  Western  Railway,"  and  at  last  fixed  his 
certain  hold  on  the  "  banker  and  broker  "  who  had 
Jerry's  interests  in  hand.  It  was  a  great  discovery, 
and  Paul  drew  a  long  breath  when  accidentally  he 
made  it ;  and  instantly  determined  to  lengthen  his 
stay  in  order  to  follow  it  up. 

A  keen,  cautious  business  man,  no  cleverer  man  in 
the  city  ;  and  Paul  put  his  own  affairs  into  his  hands 
immediately.  Daily  meetings  and  conversations  en- 
sued over  proper  investments.  Jerry  was  not  men- 
tioned, but  Burden's  stock  was,  and  after  many  dis- 
cussions, during  which  Paul  let  fall  many  dubious  hints 
and  candid  fears,  he  allowed  his  new  friend  to  invest 
for  him  in  Burden's. 


JERRY.  363 

"  But  hold  it  lightly,"  was  Paul's  parting  injunction, 
"  I  must  watch  and  be  more  certain  before  I  carry 
Burden's  as  steady  weight.'.'  Then  he  went  away, 
and  the  disinterested  broker  turned  over  all  his  own 
Burden's  stock  to  Jerry,  writing  to  say  that  he  had 
obeyed  his  orders  to  take  any  Burden's  that  might  be 
on  the  market,  especially  as  it  had  still  an  upward 
tendency. 

And  Jerry,  under  the  steady  pressure  of  his  daily 
work,  that  seemed  to  gather  force  and  velocity  as  the 
days  went  on,  listened  and  watched  with  strained  at- 
tention for  every  sign  that  might  tell  of  Paul  :  listen- 
ing with  painful  eagerness  to  any  word  that  concerned 
him  or  his  work  ;  and  felt  that  a  fortunate  chance  had 
put  him  at  Mrs.  Milton's,  where  he  could  hear  every 
rumor  or  surmise  about  every  creature  or  affair  in 
both  towns  ;  could,  as  it  were,  feel  the  pulse  of  the 
community  without  ever  seeming  to  do  so,  or  to  wish 
to  do  so.  And  when  the  letter  came  from  New  York 
telling  of  the  increased  amount  of  stock  that  had  been 
taken  for  him,  with  the  further  information  that  Bur- 
den's was  on  the  rise,  he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief, 
for  it  seemed  that  he  had  not  been  injured  as  yet  : 
and  he  went  about  his  increasing  work  with  a  better 
hope. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  But  at  the  last 

A  great  contempt  and  hatred  of  them  took  me, 
The  base,  vile  churls  !     Why  should  I  stain  my  soul 
For  such  as  those — dogs  that  would  fawn  and  lick 
The  hand  that  fed  them,  hut,  if  food  should  fail, 
Would  turn  and  rend  me  ?  " 

AND  this  hope  was  a  godsend  to  Jerry. 
The  autumn  had  been  late,  allowing  everything 
to  work  prosperously,  and  encouraging  Jerry  to 
believe  that  he  was  destined  to  succeed  ;  but  follow- 
ing the  favorable  December  had  come  weather  that 
was  unprecedented  in  its  severity.  The  snow-falls 
had  been  so  heavy  and  so  continuous,  that  all  availa- 
ble labor  had  to  be  put  to  the  work  of  keeping  the 
gorge  clear  ;  else,  who  could  estimate  the  danger  to 
the  lives  and  property  of  the  whole  town.  Only  once 
since  Burden's  had  been  settled  had  there  been  such 
a  winter,  and  then  many  lives  had  been  lost  of  people 
who  lived  in  the  bottom  of  the  gulch  ;  so  that  after 
that  the  people  had  built  in  sheltered  places  only, 
where  great  bodies  of  snow  could  not  slide  clown  on 
them  from  higher  points.  But  during  all  the  safe 
years  that  had  followed,  this  precaution  had  been  for- 
gotten, and  now  the  -houses  were  everywhere,  and  the 
danger  was  great. 

"  It  were  the  awfulest  time  I  ever  seen,"  and  Mrs. 
Milton  finished  her  relation  of  woes  with  an  ominous 
shake  of  the  head,  "  an'  many  a  pore  creetur  worn't 
never  dug  out  tell  way  in  the  spring  ;  an'  the  Lord 
hev  mussy  fur  the  water  thet  come  down  when  the 
snow  melted  !  " 

And  Jerry  listened  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  urged 

364 


JERKY.  365 

Mr.  Henshaw  and  the  men  on  to  every  exertion  pos- 
sible, to  make  the  place  safe. 

And  still  the  snow  fell.  • 

The  work  on  the  railway  had  been  stopped,  and  the 
workmen  had  gone  back  over  the  mountains  ;  the  men 
had  been  taken  from  the  mine,  so  that  the  work  there 
was  at  a  standstill,  and  no  dividend  could  be  declared  ; 
money  was  scarce  in  the  treasury  ;  wood  was  getting 
low  :  there  was  no  doctor  in  either  town  to  attend  the 
sick,  and  no  priest  or  minister  of  any  kind  to  bury  the 
dead.  Colder  and  darker  the  winter  settled  down  ; 
each  hour  drawing  things  nearer  to  desperation — each 
day  coming  as  a  freshly  armed  enemy  ! 

So  quietly  the  danger  had  crept  upon  him  that  Jerry 
did  not  realize  it  was  a  danger.  So  many  things  cul- 
minated so  silently  ;  the  continued  snow  that  stopped 
all  communication  with  the  outside  world  ;  the  stop- 
ping of  work  in  the  mine  that  caused  the  dividend  to 
be  postponed  ;  the  emptiness  of  the  treasury  that  the 
dividend  would  have  filled  ;  the  stacks  of  wood  that 
were  not  sufficient  to  meet  the  extraordinary  run  on 
them  ;  the  public  store  of  meat  and  meal  that  could 
not  be  replenished  because  the  roads  were  blocked. 
Who  could  have  foreseen  all  this — who  would  have 
realized  it  until  it  was  too  late. 

Jerry  was  appalled,  but  he  gave  no  sign  ;  instead, 
he  made  as  if  he  did  not  hear  the  murmurs  that  at 
first  were  disjointed,  but  that  now  were  growing  more 
and  more  continuous  :  he  made  superhuman  efforts 
to  rectify  things  and  to  satisfy  all  wants  ;  but  he 
would  hear  no  murmurs. 

He  grew  thin  and  white  with  the  dreadful  strain, 
and  his  eyes  shone  with  an  unnatural  luster. 

Suppose  the  people  should  revolt — should  throw  all 
their  shares  on  the  market  ! 

He  ground  his  teeth  :  a  sudden  fierce  anger,  that 
was  like  madness  when  it  seized  him,  swept  over  him 
when  he  remembered  that  these  ignorant  creatures 
had  it  in  their  power  to  ruin  him  !  And  as  he  heard 


366 

the  sullen  grumbling  grow  louder,  and  knew  that  inso- 
lent words  were  said  for  him  to  hear,  he  longed  to 
beat  and  stamp  upon  them,  and  to  drive  them  from 
the  town  :  and  his  anger  grew  almost  more  than  he 
could  bear  ! 

At  last  there  came  a  break  in  the  clouds,  and  for 
one  week  no  snow  fell  ;  this  gave  some  hope,  and  the 
discontented  murmurs  were  lessened  somewhat. 

A  party  went  out  to  hunt,  that  the  people  might 
have  fresh  meat  ;  another  party  went  after  wood,  and 
those  who  stayed  at  home  spoke  cheerfully  of  spring. 

Two  weeks  without  snow  :  and  Jerry  asked  Mrs. 
Milton,  in  a  half-frightened  way,  if  she  thought  the 
winter  had  broken  ;  and  hardly  dared  ask  the  question, 
lest  the  snow  should  begin  again. 

At  the  end  of  the  two  weeks  Mr.  Henshaw  advised 
that  the  men  be  put  to  work  on  the  dam  before  any 
snow  melted,  as  when  this  happened  it  would  be  too 
late  to  help  matters.  Jerry  agreed  with  him,  and  put 
the  matter  before  the  Committee,  and  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  been  their  leader,  he  met  a  repulse. 
He  had  expected  it,  for  he  knew  that  the  men 
thought  the  wprk  in  the  mine  would  now  be  resumed, 
and  a  dividend  declared  :  nevertheless,  just  at  first  it 
gave  him  a  shock,  then  his  accumulated  anger  flared  up! 

How  dared  they  oppose  him — these  ignorant  fools  ! 
and  he  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  light  in  his  eyes  that 
made  the  bravest  man  there  wish  himself  out  of  the 
difficulty. 

With  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  coolly  and  scornfully  over  the  crowd. 
Men  grown  gaunt  and  white  during  the  long,  hard 
winter  for  lack  of  proper  food  and  warmth  :  men  of 
desperate  characters  and  fortunes  who  had  come  to 
Burden's  expecting  immediate  wealth  :  disappointed 
men  who  had  grown  sullen  and  hungry  and  were  not 
to  be  tampered  with  lightly. 

But  Jerry  was  more  desperate  than  they  ;  he  had 
more  at  stake  :  to  them  it  was  a  chance  speculation 


JERRY.  367 

only,  that  had  not  answered  their  expectations  :  to 
him  it  was  success  or  disgrace — it  was  fame,  fortune, 
life, — or  death  ! 

Slowly,  and  in  a  voice  that  showed  the  restraint 
under  which  he  was  holding  himself,  he  began  his 
speech.  He  reminded  them  of  how  this  venture  had 
come  to  life  and  been  carried  on  ;  how  he  had  built 
up  the  town  of  Burden's  and  had  had  the  railway 
extended  :  how  they  had  been  cared  for  and  helped 
through  the  hardest  winter  ever  known  in  that  country: 
how  the  Eastern  shareholders  of  the  mine  had  con- 
sented that  the  work  might  be  stopped  if  the  miners 
were  needed  to  work  for  the  protection  of  the  town. 

"  And  now,  when  the  winter  is  breaking,"  he  went 
on,  raising  his  voice,  "  when  the  time  has  come  to 
make  the  thing  pay, — to  save  the  thing  from  destruc- 
tion, you  stand  back  like  fools  and  refuse  to  work  ! 

"  Protect  the  mine  by  a  week's  work,  then  work  it 
so  that  a  dividend  can  be  declared.  You  know,  as 
well  as  I  do,  that  to-day  this  town  is  in  better  order, 
and  the  people  more  free,  and  more  justly  dealt  by, 
than  in  any  other  mining  town  in  America.  You 
know  that  as  long  as  the  present  government  of  this 
town  continues,  things  will  go  on  as  prosperously  as 
now  ;  but  change  it,  and  what  will  be  the  result  ? 
With  the  entrance  of  the  railway  the  place  will  be 
flooded  by  a  mob  of  '  placer  miners  ';  the  Eastern 
shareholders  will  look  only  to  their  own  interests,  and 
you  will  lose  all  the  work,  and  much  of  the  money 
you  have  invested  in  Burden's.  I  say  that  if  you 
change  the  present  organization  you  are  fools  ;  I  say 
that  if  you  do  not  make  the  mine  safe,  you  are  fools. 
You  can  shoot  for  these  words,  but  so  can  I  :  it  will 
not  pay,  however,  and  you  will  not  do  it. 

"  Now,  I  want  you  to  think  of  two  things  :  first, 
without  a  strong  government  the  railway  will  ruin  us  ; 
second,  that  unless  twenty-five  men  are  at  work  on 
that  dam  to-morrow  morning,  I  wash  my  hands  of 
this  whole  business, — I  will  resign  every  position  and 


368  JERR  Y. 

leave  Burden's  to-morrow  !  "  and  he  took  up  his  hat 
and  walked  down  through  the  crowded  room,  where  a 
way  was  made  for  him,  and  out  of  the  house. 

He  had  made  a  desperate  move,  and  how  would  it 
be  taken  ?  Every  nerve  was  quivering,  and  he  strode 
through  the  snow  to  Mrs.  Milton's  house,  scarcely 
heeding  that  he  did  not  follow  the  beaten  track,  made 
safe  but  hideous  by  ashes  being  sprinkled  on  it. 
Even  down  to  so  small  a  matter  as  this,  he  carried  his 
rule  :  one  woman  had  slipped  on  the  ice  and  broken 
her  arm,  which  Jerry  could  set  but  very  indifferently  ; 
and  after  that  each  householder  had  to  save  ashes, 
and  sprinkle  the  pathway  for  a  certain  distance. 

Young  Greg  had  watched  with  wonder  the  way  in 
which  Jerry  controlled  these  people,  who  were  many 
of  them  no  better,  nor  more  educated,  than  beasts. 
What  was  the  source  of  his  power,  and  how  had  he 
won  their  confidence  so  entirely  ?  At  the  time  of  the 
doctor's  death  Greg  had  watched  for  some  outbreak  ; 
would  they  distinguish  between  Jerry's  words  against 
abstract  land-sharpers,  and  the  doctor  ?  Would  they 
remember  that  the  doctor  had  indorsed  Jerry  and  his 
plans,  or  would  they  remember  only  that  he  had  left 
his  money  to  benefit  them,  not  once  mentioning  past 
ingratitude  ? 

He  had  expected  some  revulsion  of  feeling  in  the 
people  that  would  carry  them  violently  in  an  opposite 
direction,  and  dethrone  Jerry  ;  but  he  watched  in 
vain.  The  money  had  been  left  to  them  ;  a  good 
man  had.  vindicated  his  name  and  proved  his  interest 
in  their  welfare  :  this  had  been  done,  but  the  money 
had  not  come  to  them  in  a  way  that  would  arouse  any 
enthusiasm.  The  good  they  were  to  reap  from  it  was 
not  personal  enough  for  the  men  to  feel  any  special 
gratitude  for  it  ;  and  the  women  had  no  word  in  the 
matter.  They  looked  on  the  will  only  as  another 
"  curus  doin'  "  of  the  doctor's,  who  had  been  a  mystery 
to  them  always.  Indeed,  on  speaking  to  one  or  two 
of  the  men  about  it,  Greg  found  that  they  thought 


JERRY.  369 

that  Mr.  Wilkerson  had  done  much  more  for  them, 
and  in  the  future  would  make  the  fortune  of  the  town 
and  all  the  people  in  it. 

As  the  winter  went  on,  however,  and  the  cold  grew 
more  and  more  intense,  and  the  prospect  of  work  and 
money  more  and  more  precarious,  Greg  once  more 
began  to  watch  and  listen  anxiously. 

It  had  become  a  great  wish  with  him  that  Jerry 
should  succeed,  a  great  wish  outside  of  his  own 
interests  in  the  town.  Jerry  had  worked  so  bravely, 
and  his  success  had  been  so  unprecedented,  that  it  had 
come  to  be  like  the  watching  of  some  exciting  game 
of  chance.  He  knew  for  what  high  stakes  Jerry  was 
playing  :  he  saw  that  it  would  be  life  or  death  to  him, 
and  that  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  inspired  some 
of  the  moves  Jerry  made. 

But  beyond  this,  he  had  played  so  boldly  and  so 
skillfully,  that  sometimes  when  a  difficulty  was  over- 
come Greg  would  draw  a  long  breath,  and  wonder 
how  long  this  man's  highly  strung  temperament  would 
stand  the  strain  ! 

And  as  he  sat  in  the  council-room  lately  put  up 
over  Burk's  shop,  where  the  public  meeting  was  held 
to  call  for  men  to  work  on  the  dam — as  he,  going 
early,  sat  and  watched  the  gathering  of  the  crowd,  he 
realized  that  a  dangerous  crisis  had  come,  and  won- 
dered what  the  upshot  would  be. 

Greg  watched  anxiously  as  Dan  Burk  explained 
that  the  meeting  had  been  called  to  hear  a  plan  of 
Mr.  Wilkerson's  ;  that  now  the  working  season  had 
come  again,  Mr.  Wilkerson  had  something  to  say  to 
them. 

This  was  received  in  silence  ;  then  Jerry  told  them 
that  he  wanted  them  to  work  on  the  dam  and  so  make 
it  safe  before  beginning  work  in  the  mine  :  and  when 
he  ceased  there  was  the  same  ominous  silence — a 
silence  that  made  Greg  lean  forward  and  listen  and 
watch  intently. 

There  was  a  little  shuffling  of  feet — then  a  man  rose 


37°  JERRY. 

and  said  that  work  in  the  mine  they  were  willing  to 
do,  for  that  meant  a  dividend  to  them  and  to  the 
town,  and  money  was  needed  badly  enough  ;  but 
that  "work  on  the  dam,"  pausing  in  his  slow  drawling 
speech  to  give  full  effect,  "  wuzn't  wuther  damn,  an' 
all  were  free  men";  then  he  sat  down  amid  great 
applause  ! 

It  was  then  that  Jerry  rose  and  attacked  them  so 
unhesitatingly,  and  threatened  to  throw  over  the 
whole  scheme.  And  when  he  was  gone  Greg  looked 
about  in  grave  anxiety  :  how  would  they  stand  this  ? 
But  nothing  was  said,  and  after  a  little  while  he  saw 
the  new  men,  who  had  come  after  the  town  was  well 
under  way,  rise  one  after  another  and  leave  the  room  ; 
and  from  the  window  he  could  see  that  they  had  con- 
gregated outside,  and  inside  the  old  inhabitants  sat 
in  sullen  silence,  looking  at  him  rather  suspiciously. 
But  he  did  not  move,  and  these  also  left  the  room  one 
by  one,  making  another  group  in  the  road,  and  Dan 
Burk,  left  alone  with  him,  stroked  his  sleek,  straight 
hair  slowly. 

"  It'll  .bust  all  to  pieces  if  Mr.  Wilkerson  gives  it 
up,"  he  said.  » 

And  Greg  asked  impatiently  : 

"  Why  do  not  you  tell  the  men  so  ?  " 

But  Burk  shook  his  head. 

"  They  knows  it  just  as  well  as  me,"  he  said,  "  an* 
they  aint  agoin'  to  let  nobody  talk  no  sass  to  them 
except  Mr.  Wilkerson  :  an'  you  kin  rest  damn  sure, 
Mr.  Greg,  that  if  they  want  to  go  to  the  devil,  talkin' 
won't  stop  'em  ;  just  be  sure  of  that,"  then  he  rose, 
and  Greg  followed  him  down  the  ladder  to  the  shop 
below. 

Evidently  there  was  no  way  for  him  to  find  out  the 
probable  course  of  events,  and  having  a  letter  he 
wanted  to  show  Jerry,  Greg  turned  his  face  in  the 
direction  of  Mrs.  Milton's. 

It  was  a  letter  from  his  sister  that  surprised  him  a 
little.  She  said  that  they  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr. 


JERRY.  371 

Henley,  and  liked  him  better  than  at  first ;  that  he 
told  them  a  great  deal  of  the  life  at  Burden's,  and 
"  spoke  most  pleasantly  and  affectionately  of  Mr. 
Wilkerson,  whom,"  he  said,  "  he  had  known  most 
intimately  ;  but  laughed  when  we  called  him  wealthy." 
And  Greg  was  much  puzzled. 

Of  the  extent  of  Jerry's  fortune  Greg  knew  only 
what  his  father  and  brother  knew,  and  this  knowledge 
did  not  include  Jerry's  transactions  with  his  broker  ; 
and  to  Greg,  as  to  Paul,  it  had  seemed  a  strange 
thing  for  a  common  man  like  Gilliam  to  have  so  much 
money,  but  it  had  never  entered  into  his  mind  to  ask 
the  how  of  the  fact.  Indeed,  life  in  Durden's  was  to 
Greg  so  new  and  unique,  that  he  seldom  wondered  or 
was  suryrised  at  anything  :  each  individual  enjoyed 
perfect  freedom  of  action  and  thought,  while  com- 
ment and  questions  were  careful  and  few. 

Jerry  was  the  only  man  that  Greg  could  find,  who 
was  in  the  least  hampered,  and  that  only  because  he 
had  made  the  people  depend  on  him  ;  and  he,  if  he 
would  sell  the  town  to  the  railway  and  the  mining 
company,  could  free  himself  and  go  East  a  rich  man. 
But  Greg  could  not  imagine  Jerry  as  doing  this  ;  his 
ambition  was  higher  than  the  mere  making  of  a  for- 
tune :  he  wanted  to  create  a  community — he  wanted  to 
control  great  interests — to  be  known  as  a  "  Money 
King  " — he  wanted  to  raise  the  people  ;  and  this  last 
made  Greg  sigh.  Still,  he  thought  Jerry  bid  fair  to 
win  even  with  this  weak  philanthropical  joint  in  his 
harness.  Things  looked  dark  just  now,  and  Paul 
Henley  was  a  dangerous  enemy  because  an  unscrupu- 
lous one,  and  Greg  felt  anxious  ;  but  he  had  great 
faith  in  Jerry's  keenness,  and  power  over  the  people. 
His  speech  that  day  had  been  dangerous,  but  it  had 
dealt  a  telling  blow  in  that  it  had  divided  the  party 
that  was  against  him.  The  old  and  the  new  had 
separated  completely  :  the  new  were  favorable  to  the 
present  government,  with  much  contempt  for  the  old 
Durden's,  of  which  they  had  heard  much  :  the  old 


3?2  JERRY. 

settlers  looked  back  angrily  to  the  old  times  because 
they  were  learning  to  be  ashamed  of  the  old  ways,  while 
yet  they  had  a  weak  longing  for  their  license.  But-  all 
parties  were  fully  aware  that  there  was  no  man  in  either 
town  who  could  guide  affairs  as  Jerry  had  done. 

For  himself,  Greg  felt  that  he'  had  been  cool  to 
Jerry,  and  by  his  father's  advice  had  abstained  from 
being  intimate  with  him  for  the  present ;  but  he  could 
not  help  feeling  a  sort  of  pitying  admiration  for  this 
man  fighting  so  hard  a  battle,  and  standing  so  entirely 
alone  !  Yet  sometimes,  as  he  watched  Jerry,  his 
mind  would  fill  with  doubt,  and  his  father's  warning 
would  seem  wise. 

Jerry's  door  stood  a  little  open,  and  Greg  walked 
in  to  find  him  seated  at  the  table  with  his  arms  crossed 
on  it  and  his  head  bent  down  on  them.  Greg  stood 
quite  still  ;  the  whole  man  and  position  looked  so 
despairing,  and  he  feared,  as  he  had  never  done  before, 
for  the  fate  of  the  mining  venture. 

Jerry  rose,  not  hurriedly  as  if  he  wished  to  hide  his 
feelings  and  the  anxiety  that  possessed  him,  but  slowly 
as  one  who  was  thoroughly  worn  out.  He  had  made 
a  rash  speech — had  pronounced  a  rash  ultimatum  ; 
what  if  he  had  been  taken  at  his  word  ?  Where  would 
he  stand  with  all  his  fortune  invested  in  the  mine  ? 

It  would  look  like  base  desertion  for  him  to  sell 
out  ;  indeed,  he  did  not  believe  that  he  could  sell  the 
stock  if  the  facts  of  the  case  should  become  known. 
His  only  alternative  would  be  to  sell  secretly  ;  in  this 
way  he  could  save  his  money. 

And  if  the  men  did  not  come  to  their  work  in  the 
morning,  would  he  do  this  ? 

But  now  Greg  interrupted  him,  and  he  rose  wearily — 
"  I  have  brought  you  this  letter,"  Greg  began,  ignoring 
all  the  morning's  troubles,  "  because  I  can  not  make  any 
thing  of  it,  and  I  thought  that  you  might  read  some- 
thing between  the  lines  ;  it  is  from  my  sister,"  and  he 
handed  Jerry  the  letter,  opened  at  the  page  that  men- 
tioned Henlev. 


JERRY.  373 

The  paper  was  rich,  and  a  little  perfume  seemed  to 
float  up  from  the  folds  of  it ;  a  faint,  sweet  smell  that 
took  Jerry  back  to  the  luxury,  and  beauty,  and  pleasure 
that  he  remembered  as  a  dream  ! 

He  did  not  see  the  words  just  at  first,  but  stood 
wondering  at  the  past  and  at  himself  as  he  had  been 
then.  He  passed  his  hand  wearily  over  his  brow,  a 
gesture  he  often  made  now,  and  with  an  effort  brought 
his  mind  back  to  Greg  and  the  letter.  He  read  it 
slowly  once,  then  more  carefully  the  second  time, 
standing  quite  still  in  front  of  the  fire,  while  Greg 
watched  him  anxiously. 

"  He  is  winning  their  confidence, — the  women  first, 
Fred  and  your  father  later, — in  order  to  injure  me," 
he  said,  then  walked  over  to  the  window. 

"  How  will  they  help  him  ? "  Greg  asked  a  little 
hotly. 

"  He  speaks  of  me  in  this  way  to  them,  so  that 
when  the  time  comes  to  attack  me,  they  will  be  per- 
suaded to  his  side,  not  looking  for  any  personal  mo- 
tives behind  his  actions." 

Greg  sat  down  thoughtfully  :  this  ridiculously  simple 
solution  was  not  all  that  Jerry  read  between  the  lines  ; 
of  course  Jerry  saw  more  than  this — he  had  not  men- 
tioned the  allusion  to  his  wealth. 

Jerry  handed  the  letter  back  slowly — he  liked  to 
hold  it,  it  was  so  dainty  and  refined  ;  and  he  watched 
it  while  Greg  folded  it  and  put  it  away,  and  caught 
himself  wondering  how  it  was  he  had  such  a  longing 
for  things  so  entirely  out  of  his  sphere. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Greg,"  he  said,  "  for 
taking  the  trouble  to  bring  the  letter  here,  and  for 
your  kind  interest  in  my  small  difficulties,"  then  sitting 
down  near  the  fire,  "  Has  your  father  written  you  any- 
thing of  Burden's  stock  lately?" 

"  Firm,  with  an  upward  tendency,"  Greg  answered  ; 
"  the  report  of  Henshaw  has  made  a  great  sensation  ; 
then  the  doctor's  will  has  brought  us  into  notice." 

"  I  knew  it  would,"  and  Jerry  took  a  letter  from  the 


374  JERRY. 

table  ;  "  The  trustees  leave  the  whole  matter  in  my 
hands,"  he  went  on,  "  asking  for  a  yearly  report  of  the 
property  ;  they  have  empowered  me  to  employ  a  secre- 
tary ;  do  you  know  of  any  one  who  can  fill  the  posi- 
tion ?  " 

Greg  shook  his  head. 

"  There  is  no  one  out  here,  but  I  dare  say  they  can 
send  you  one." 

"  I  prefer  that  they  should,"  Jerry  answered,  "  and 
send  me  a  man  clearly  instructed  to  watch  the  des- 
tination of  every  cent,"  his  voice  growing  harder  as 
he  went  on,  "  I  prefer  to  be  watched  in  my  transac- 
tions." 

Greg  moved  a  little  ;  this  did  not  have  a  pleasant 
sound  ;  did  Jerry  think  he  could  be  attacked  from 
that  side  by  Paul  ? 

"  You  have  been  watched  in  all  your  town  transac- 
tions," he  said,  "  you  do  not  know  how  closely  :  Burk 
never  allows  anything  to  escape  him  ;  you  need  have 
no  uneasiness  about  that." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  uneasy,"  Jerry  answered, 
"  but  I  prefer  to  be  watched,  for  then  I  can  have  wit- 
nesses always." 

"  Unless  those  who  watch  you  are  unscrupulous, 
and  enemies,"  and  Greg  rose  to  go.  He  felt  repulsed, 
and  yet  could  not  blame  Jerry,  for  in  the  first  instance 
he  had  turned  from  Jerry  :  but  the  man  seemed  so 
lonely  that  unconsciously  Greg  had  cultivated  a  feel- 
ing that  at  any  time  that  he  held  out  a  hand,  Jerry 
would  take  it ;  but  now  he  found  that  even  though 
very  lonely — even  though  entirely  without  friends, 
Jerry  would  not  let  him  return  to  his  old  position. 

It  hurt  him  just  a  little  at  first,  this  stiffness,  but 
when  he  thought  over  it  quietly,  he  was  not  sorry. 
It  was  interesting  to  stand  and  watch  this  game  as  it 
was  played  ;  it  was  exciting  even,  but  he  did  not  want 
it  to  be  any  more  so  than  at  present ;  if  he  cast  in  his 
fate  with  Jerry  it  would  grow  too  exciting,  and  he 
would  have  to  stand  or  fall  with  this  man.  As  it  was, 


JERRY.  375 

he  was  secure  outside  of  Jerry's  venture  ;  on  his  own 
land  he  had  found  gold,  and  besides  his  investments 
in  the  town  and  in  the  mine,  he  had  this  private  vein 
that  already  paid  him.  He  was  doing  well,  and  was 
glad  that  Jerry  had  withdrawn  from  him  ;  for  now  he 
was  not  only  financially  safe,  but  his  conscience  was 
clear,  for  he  had  made  an  advance  to  Jerry,  and  had 
been  repulsed. 

On  the  whole  he  was  glad,  and  his  father  had  been 
wise. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Who  bettering  not  with  time, 
Corrupts  the  strength  of  heaven-descended  will, 
And  ever  weaker  grows  through  acted  crime, 
Or  seeming-genial  venial  fault 
Recurring  and  suggesting  still  ! 


I^HE  daylight  seemed  to  come  reluctantly  the  next 
morning  ;  at  least  so  it  seemed  to  Jerry,  who  was 
watching  for  it  with  a  weary  excitement.  Sleep 
had  been  impossible  to  him  :  all  night  long  he  had 
lain  with  wide-open  eyes  trying  to  rest,  —  trying  to 
push  out  of  his  mind  all  memory  of  the  disasters  that 
might  meet  him  when  the  day  dawned.  And  he 
watched  the  firelight  that  played  on  the  wall,  and  the 
wan  gray  day  that  marked  so  gradually  the  square 
of  the  window. 

The  sky  was  leaden-hued,  but  no  snow  was  falling  : 
he  sighed  a  little,  for  the  snow  would  have  solved  this 
difficulty.  But  the  snow  was  waiting  for  some  time 
when  he  would  not  want  it  ;  and  the  issue  stood  be- 
fore him  unsettled. 

He  dressed  slowly  ;  he  would  give  the  men  the 
benefit  of  every  moment  of  time  ;  and  he  ate  his 
breakfast  slowly  —  very  slowly,  by  the  light  of  a  smok- 
ing lamp  —  for  Mrs.  Milton  had  it  ready  for  him  always 
before  the  work-horn  blew  ;  then  slowly  made  his  pre- 
parations for  going  out  to  the  dam. 

"  Hev  a  leetle  patience,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  Mrs.  Mil- 
ton said,  as  she  followed  him  to  the  door,  "  Orl  the 
boys  is  been  right  smartly  honggry  sence  the  cole  sot 
in,  an'  they  aint  got  much  onderstandin'  no  how  ;  so 
hev  a  leetle  patience." 

Jerry  felt  that  his  pistols  were  safe  ;  then  lifted  his 

376 


JERRY.  377 

hat  ;  but  he  said  no  word  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Milton's 
exhortation,  and  left  her  watching  him  anxiously  as 
he  walked  away. 

"  Techin'  hisn  hat  fur  orl  the  worl'  like  the  doctor," 
she  muttered,  "  an'  a-killin'  hisseff  fur  this  pore  trash 
jest  like  the  doctor,"  and  she  turned  away  with  a  sigh. 

Jerry  found  it  a  hard  climb  over  the  snow  that  was 
mashed  into  ice, — a  slow  climb  that  gave  him  full 
time  to  think,  and  now  that  the  issue  was  on  him,  he 
could  no  longer  drive  away  his  anxiety  :  every  step 
brought  him  nearer  to  this  decision ;  every  step 
brought  him  nearer  to  an  awful  temptation  ! 

He  looked  down  anxiously  for  the  tracks  that  would 
show  that  the  men  had  passed  on  their  way  to  the  dam, 
but  the  frozen  snow  held  no  marks.  Beyond  the  end 
of  the  street  he  would  be  able  to  see  tracks,  but  he 
would  have  to  go  to  his  office  for  something,  and  this 
would  take  him  off  the  main  road  which  the  men  would 
have  followed  ;  so  that  until  he  reached  the  top  of  the 
dam  he  could  not  know  how  the  issue  had  been  deci- 
ded. He  might  have  gone  and  looked  for  tracks,  but 
this  would  have  been  too  great  an  acknowledgment 
even  to  himself. 

His  office  was  dark,  and  cold,  and  dusty,  and  in  one 
corner  the  things  he  had  brought  away  from  the  old 
house.  Dead  memorials  that  had  gained  a  human  as- 
pect from  long  association  with  living  souls  ;  things 
that  looked  as  if  they  had  regular  habits,  and  were 
distressed  by  their  homeless,  useless  condition  ;  by 
being  huddled  into  a  corner  with  dust  and  spiders' 
webs  about  them.  Did  they  suspect  that  they  might 
pass  into  strange  hands  before  this  day  faded  ? 

He  turned  away  hastily  :  if  the  men  were  going  to 
obey  his  orders,  they  would  be  at  work  by  this  time  ;  if 
not  he  would  need  all  the  day  for  the  arrangement  of 
his  own  affairs  :  and  locking  the  door,  he  took  his 
way  up  the  gorge. 

Up  where  the  wind  cut  him  more  keenly,  and  the 
dry  snow  blown  from  off  the  higher  peaks  came  about 


378  JERRY. 

him  in  sudden  swirls  and  eddies  ;  up  from  the  white 
valley  that  yet  was  checkered  and  smirched  with  the 
black  marks  of  civilization  ; — up  to  where  he  could  see 
so  clearly  the  unsullied  because  unhumanized  moun- 
tain tops  shining  white  against  the  leaden  sky. 

Half-way  up  the  gorge  he  paused,  and  listened 
intently  ;  he  heard  no  sound  of  pick  or  spade,  he 
heard  no  sound  of  voices.  More  intently  still, 
with  his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  his  head  turned  away 
from  the  wind  :  his  heart  sank  within  him — had  they 
turned  against  him  as  Joe  warned  him  that  they 
would  ? 

Up  higher,  and  still  no  sounds  nor  voices  greeted 
him  ;  not  even  his  own  footsteps  could  be  heard  as  he 
worked  his  way  through  the  soft,  dry  snow  :  on  the 
highest  ridge  that  he  would  touch  he  paused  again  to 
listen ;  it  was  strange  he  could  hear  nothing, — the 
strokes  of  the  pick  would  reach  him  at  this  distance 
surely  ! 

The  day  grew  brighter  ;  the  work-horn  was  sound- 
ing from  the  village,  and  he  waited  to  hear  it — it  was 
his  horn  now  !  Clear  and  distinct,  ringing  up  and 
down  the  white,  dead  stillness ;  and  a  little  thrill  of 
scorn  for  himself  went  through  him  as  he  listened. 
It  was  a  small  thing  he  had  done  in  establishing  that 
horn  to  mark  the  work-hours — a  small  thing  that  he 
had  done  to  mark  himself  as  victor  and  master  :  and 
he  had  worked, — secretly,  of  course, — to  get  the  same 
horn,  the  very  same  horn  he  had  heard  that  evening 
when  he  had  been  shown  his  place  : — the  evening 
when  hisold  life  died — died  with  such  painful  throes  ! 
Yes,  it  was  small. 

Then  the  last  echo  faded,  and  once  more  he  plod- 
ded on  ;  if  the  men  were  coming  they  would  be  at  the 
dam  by  this  time  and  he  would  not  stop  again. 
Steadily  forward  ;  and  on  the  top  of  the  dam  he 
stopped  :  below  him  the  small  ravine  into  which  the 
stream  had  been  turned,  a  pile  of  wood  lay  ready  for 
lighting,  and  kneeling  in  front  of  it  there  was  a  man 


JERRY.  379 

striking  a  match,  and  all  about  it  a  mass  of  silent 
workmen  showing  black  against  the  snow  !  He 
stopped  still  to  recover  himself,  for  they  had  not 
seen  him  as  yet,  and  his  heart  was  beating  strangely, 
as  with  a  halt  in  its  throb  ;  and  his  head  seemed  full 
of  blood  ;  he  had  had  the  feeling  once  before  when 
he  found  Joe's  money  ! 

Then  Mr.  Henshaw  caught  sight  of  him,  and  hailed 
him,  and  Jerry  climbed  down  among  them.  The  fire 
was  lighted  now,  and  the  men  stood  about  it  quietly. 
"  We  get  to  work  none  too  soon,"  and  Mr.  Henshaw 
pointed  to  the  sky,  "  this  freeze  will  not  last  much 
longer  ;  all- indications  point  to  a  warmer  change." 

"  And  so  we  must  work  the  harder,"  Jerry  answered, 
selecting  a  pick  from  a  pile  near  at  hand,  "  what  shall 
we  do  first  ?  " 

The  revulsion  of  feeling  had  been  great,  and  he  felt 
weak  from  it,  but  he  had  nodded  to  the  men  as  if 
nothing  had  happened,  and  now  followed  down  to 
where  the  engineer  thought  the  bed  of  the  stream 
should  be  widened  to  lessen  the  weight  against  the 
dam.  Besides,  the  stream  would  be  so  full  from  the 
unusual  amount  df  snow,  that  it  might  flow  over  the 
artificial  bank  if  room  were  not  made  for  it.  The 
dam  could  not  be  made  higher  in  a  freeze  like  this, 
and  in  any  event  this  would  not  be  so  advisable  as 
the  other.  So  the  work  was  laid  out,  and  the  men 
told  off  in  gangs  to  work  at  different  points  :  fifty 
men,  Jerry  counted,  with  a  strong  feeling  of  exulta- 
tion ;  fifty  men  who  yesterday  had  defied  him 
almost ! 

He  struck  good  blows  with  his  pick  ;  strong  blows 
that  rang  clear  and  sharp  :  he  led  his  gang  in  work, 
but  said  no  word  to  them. 

And  when  Greg  came,  he  stood  still  and  watched 
how  Jerry  took  the  lead  even  in  this  work  ;  and  when 
the  short  day  was  done,  how  easily  he  resumed  his 
place  as  chief,  giving  his  orders  for  the  next  day  clearly 
and  peremptorily,  and  directing  the  men  who  had 


380  JERRY. 

worked  to  come  and  draw  extra  rations  :  then  he  gave 
his  pick  to  be  put  in  with  the  rest,  and  walked  home 
with  Mr.  Henshaw  and  Greg. 

Greg  watched  it  all  with  the  question  ever  in  his 
mind  "  How  does  he  do  it  ? "  What  was  the  source  of 
this  man's  power  over  these  men  of  his  own  class  and 
standing  ? 

And  with  his  head  bent,  and  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  he  walked  in  silence,  not  even  hearing  the 
talk  between  Jerry  and  Mr.  Henshaw,  but  wondering 
if  his  father's  fears  about  Jerry  would  be  realized 
ever. 

This  crisis  was  past,  and  Jerry  lay  on  his  bed  ex- 
hausted. All  day  long  he  had  worked  as  hard  as  a 
common  laborer  :  after  a  long  strain  of  responsibility 
suddenly  increased  into  a  dreadful  anxiety  and  tempta- 
tion, a  tense  state  that  had  been  relieved  as  the  sudden 
snapping  of  a  cord  too  tightly  drawn  ;  he  had  worked 
as  if  his  life,  like  the  men  about  him,  had  in  it  only 
the  questions  of  food  and  raiment  ;  and  now  the 
reaction  was  too  great. 

Through  all  the  day's  work  the  exultation  had  found 
vent  in  the  quick  regularity  of  his  blows,  and  the  short 
clipping  of  his  words  when  he  gave  his  orders  :  an 
exultation  and  relief  that  were  over  now,  leaving  him 
exhausted  and  bitterly  humiliated  by  a  realization  that 
had  been  pursuing  him  all  day,  ever  since  he  had 
mounted  the  dam  and  had  seen  the  men  gathered  be- 
low him  :  a  realization  of  himself  that  was  new  to  him, 
and  being  new  was  still  dreadful  :  a  realization  that 
had  come  close  to  him,  and  had  wrapped  him  in  its 
hateful  folds.  He  abhorred  himself,  for  he  knew  that 
if  the  men  had  refused  to  work,  he  would  have  sold 
out  by  telegraph,  and  at  this  moment  would  have 
stood  free,  and  rich,  and  a  legalized  thief.  He  would 
have  withdrawn  from  the  venture  secretly — would 
have  escaped  free  with  Ihe  spoils — would  have  failed 
to  every  trust  in  order  to  save  his  own  money  ! 

And  as  he  dragged    himself  from  the  bed  wearily, 


JERRY.  381 

the  question  came  to  him,  would  the  greatest  success, 
even,  repay  him  for  this?  What  would  the  greatest 
success  mean — the  success  for  which  he  found  he 
would  sell  his  soul — what  would  this  greatest  success 
mean  ? 

He  leaned  against  the  chimney  and  looked  down 
into  the  fire  :  the  greatest  possible  success  could  mean 
only  the  gathering  of  a  colossal  fortune  for  himself — 
and  then  ? 

He  turned  quickly  to  the  door  ;  then  he  would 
have  to  hunt  for  somebody  to  love  him — for  somebody 
to  put  faith  in — for  a  new  level  of  self-respect — for  a 
new  ideal  of  a  man  ! 

And  he  went  downstairs  slowly. 

Already  in  his  pursuit  of  money  he  had  lost  his 
trust  in  every  human  creature  with  whom  he  had  come 
in  contact  :  and  with  a  fortune  in  his  hands  how  black 
human  nature  would  seem  !  And  yet,  there  was  noth- 
ing left  for  him  to  believe  now,  but  that  money  would 
compass  most  of  the  things  he  desired — would  make 
him  happy  !  And  he  would  gather  and  gather  gold 
until  it  would  mean  nothing  to  him, — and  die.  Aye, 
but  he  would  leave  his  gold  so  that  the  country  would 
ring  with  his  name  ! 

He  ate  his  supper  hurriedly,  and  walked  rapidly  to 
Dan  Burk's  shop  where  the  public  stores  were  kept;  he 
had  to  issue  rations, and  to  order  out  more  men  to  work, 
for  the  wind  had  a  new  and  sudden  warmth  in  it  that 
meant  a  thaw.  Swiftly  down  the  rough  road,  and  in 
at  Burk's  shop,  glad  to  reach  the  piles  of  meat  and 
bins  of  meal — to  reach  and  measure  out  the  crude, 
ill-smelling  liquor  from  the  great  barrels  that  stood  in 
the  inner  room — glad  to  do  anything,  or  go  anywhere 
that  would  deliver  him  from  this  "  self  "  he  was  learn- 
ing to  fear, — this  "  self  "  he  was  not  brave  enough  to 
contemplate. 

How  he  had  fallen  from  his  high  ideals  !  how  reck- 
lessly he  had  striven  and  fought  for  this  money  that 
had  seemed  to  satisfy! — and  he  had  gained  it. 


3^2  JERRY. 

Gained  it  ?  he  spilled  the  whisky  a  little  as  he 
measured  it  out  by  the  light  of  a  flickering  torch  the 
men  held  ;  and  he  knew  that  he  had  not  gained  the 
gold,  but  the  gold  him  !  It  held  him  fast  and  strong, 
and  drove  him  in  ways  he  abhorred — held  him  down 
until  his  old  self  became  a  haunting  spirit  that  made 
him  loathe  this  new  creature  born  of  covetousness. 

The  men  had  gone  now,  and  twenty  new  hands 
were  coming  to  the  work  in  the  morning  :  his  task 
was  done,  and  he  locked  the  doors  and  walked  up  the 
street  with  Greg,  who  had  come  to  help  him. 

"  The  men  have  worked  well  to-day,"  Greg  said, 
wondering  if  Jerry  would  allude  to  the  crisis  in  any 
way. 

'•Yes,"  Jerry  answered,  "  it  is  not  often  they  are 
blind  to  their  own  interests,"  but  that  was  all,  and  at 
Mrs.  Milton's  door  he  said  good-night  without  the 
least  suggestion  that  Greg  should  come  in. 

And  Greg  turned  away  provoked,  yet  he  felt  un- 
easy ;  he  must  make  peace  with  this  man  to-morrow — 
did  he  care  for  him  really  ? — strange  what  power  he 
had. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  The  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret 

Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other  groan  ; 
When  palsy  shakes  a  few,  last,  sad  gray  hairs. 
When  youth  grows  pale,  and  specter-thin,  and  dies  ; 
When  but  to  think  is  to  be  full  of  sorrow 
And  leaden-eyed  despairs." 

AND-so  the  winter  passed  with  its  sufferings  and 
crises  ;  with  its  strained  watching  and  excitement, 
and  at  last  the  weather  had  broken,  and  a  chilling 
thaw  set  in.  Worse  than  the  dry,  iron  freeze  of  the 
mid-winter,  this  thaw  seemed  with  its  death-like  damp- 
ness to  search  in  among  the  bones,  and  to  creep  up 
and  down  the  shrunken  blood-vessels. 

The  roads  were  half-frozen  slush,  and  the  stream 
already  boiled  white  and  angry  down  the  mountain- 
side, while  as  yet  the  upper  snow  had  not  begun  to  melt. 
There  was  a  fascination  in  watching  its  eddies  and 
foaming  waves,  and  Jerry  would  stand  on  the  dam 
and  wonder  how  much  higher  it  would  rise  when  the 
real  spring-weather  came  ;  and  would  the  dam  hold  it  ? 

Wretched  weather  that  brought  to  the  people  all 
the  ills  with  which  cold  and  dampness  could  afflict. 
Many  of  the  little  children  died,  and  the  old  people, 
and  the  murmur  of  regret  for  the  doctor  swelled  and 
grew  into  rooted  discontent.  Mr.  Wilkerson  ought  to 
send  for  a  physician  ;  and  Jerry,  who  had  appealed  to 
his  friends  in  the  East  already,  made  another  state- 
ment of  his  needs,  and  asked  that  a  clergyman  should 
be  sent  also  ;  for  he  felt  a  strange  reluctance  to  read 
the  services  over  the  dead,  which  thing  he  had  to  do  be- 
cause the  doctor  had  done  it  always, — a  superstitious 
feeling  about  it  that  made  him  afraid  almost,  and  a 

383 


384  JERRY. 

knowledge  that  he  was  not  fit  to  do  it.  Yet,  many, 
many  times  he  had  to  stand  in  the  rain-washed  grave- 
yard, and  commit  to  their  last  resting-places  the  chil- 
dren, and  the  men,  and  the^  women  he  had  known  ; 
had  brought  out  there  in  some  cases  ;  had  watched 
sicken  and  die  with  no  creature  near  with  knowledge 
enough  to  help  them  ! 

He  could  not  do  everything. 

But  the  work  on  the  railway  was  going  on  briskly 
now,  and  soon  the  advanced  corps  of  workmen  would 
be  in  the  town,  and  the  physician  of  the  company  be 
near  enough  to  help  them. 

As  yet,  Jerry  had  heard  nothing  from  the  East  that 
could  in  any  way  advise  him  of  Paul's  movements, 
save  the  letter  from  Isabel  Greg  which  her  brother 
had  shown  him.  But  he  had  not  much  time  to  brood 
over  this  now,  for  the  mine  occupied  all  his  attention. 
Mr.  Henshaw's  work  was  thorough,  but  he  worked 
with  a  deliberation  that  to  Jerry  was  maddening 
almost.  Mr.  Henshaw  could  not  realize  the  import- 
ance of  making  one  quick  dividend  that  would  keep 
the  people  patient  and  fill  the  treasury  ;  he  had  per- 
fect confidence  in  the  mine  himself,  and  wrote  it  up 
most  diligently ;  and  the  capitalists  in  the  East  were 
perfectly  satisfied,  but  the  people  in  Durden's,  who 
were  doing  the  work,  began  to  murmur. 

They  were  not  in  want,  for  the  town  supplied  them 
with  all  the  necessities  of  life,  but  they  had  no  money  : 
the  chance  laborers  who  were  paid  from  the  treasury 
had  more  money  than  the  governing  members  of  the 
Commune. 

Jerry  spent  much  weary  thought  on  the  subject, 
but  could  find  no  solution  for  the  problem  ;  if  he  ad- 
vised these  men  to  sell,  it  would  affect  seriously  the 
mining  stock;  if  he  broke  up  the  Commune  system, 
and  paid  back  to  these  men  all  they  had  invested,  he 
would  have  to  sell  much  of  his  own  Durden's  stock, 
which  would  look  more  like  a  loss  of  confidence  than 
any  other  move  he  could  make.  Henshaw  could 


JERRY.  385 

relieve  him  from  his  difficulty  entirely,  if  he  would 
make  a  little  haste,  but  this  he  did  not  seem  to  under- 
stand, and  Jerry  knew  that  if  he  tried  to  hurry  him  by 
telling  him  all  the  motives  and  necessities  of  the  situ- 
ation, he  would  not  comprehend  the  position,  and 
might  kill  the  whole  scheme  with  his  slow,  blundering, 
literal  explanations  to  .every  soul  whom,  he  thought, 
contributed  one  cent  to  the  very  handsome  salary  that 
made  him  and  his  "  Sue  "  so  comfortable.  There 
would  be  no  dishonesty  in  the  quick  dividend  which 
Jerry  wanted,  but  Henshaw's  elaborate  explanations 
would  be  sure  to  make  it  seem  so. 

Jerry  thought  of  every  possible,  and  impossible, 
plan  to  satisfy  these  ignorant  people  who^were  ham- 
pering him  so  cruelly.  If  his  money  had  b'een  an  ac- 
cepted fact  among  them,  he  would  have  bought  out 
the  half  of  every  discontented  man's  share,  and  so 
have  satisfied  them  ;  as  it  was  he  could  not  do  this 
without  explanations  which  would  seem  like  fairy 
tales  to  these  people,  and  more  surely  than  anything 
else  would  ruin  him.  One  last  plan  occurred  to  him  : 
it  was  to  double  the  working  force  in  the  mine,  and 
compel  Henshaw  to  be  more  active. 

And  he  could  get  the  men  easily,  for  now  that  the 
terminus  of  the  railway  was  so  near,  numbers  of  new 
men  were  coming  in  every  day  to  ask  for  work  ;  but 
how  pay  them  ?  It  came  home  to  him  with  harsh 
force  how  foolish  he  had  been  to  invest  everything  in 
Burden's  ;  if  any  part  of  it  were  now  free,  or  was  in- 
vested in  anything  it  was  less  ruinous  to  touch,  he 
gladly  would  have  withdrawn  it  all  in  order  to  pay 
these  men  and  quicken  the  declaration  of  a  dividend. 

His  only  alternative  was  to  borrow  ;  again  and 
again  he  had  turned  away  from  this  thought,  only  to 
come  back  to  it  whenever  a  louder  and  more  angry 
murmur  came  from  the  people.  Borrow  money  to 
carry  him  over  this  crisis,  and  all  would  be  well  :  bor- 
row money  in  his  own  name,  and  buy  out  the  shares 
of  these  discontented  people  in  the  name  of  his 


JERR  Y. 

broker — why  not  ?  This  would  be  easy,  very  easy  ; 
and  he  wrote  to  the  broker  the  amount  he  wanted  to 
borrow. 

It  took  nights  of  thought,  coming  after  long  days 
of  labor,  to  decide  this,  and  he  felt  very  weary  when 
at  last  he  wrote  to  his  broker  ;  and  was  in  despair  al- 
most when  he  saw  the  rate  of  interest  charged  him. 
Still,  to  have  the  money  was  a  relief,  and  the  broker's 
name  to  shield  him. 

Louder  the  murmurs  swelled  ;  but  Jerry  waited  ; 
every  day  that  passed  without  actual  disaster  in  the 
shape  of  a  strike  was  so  much  gained.  Louder  and 
louder,  then  quietly  he  stepped  in  and  bought  in  the 
name  of  Mr.  Glendale  the  half  of  every  stockholder's 
interest  in  the  mine  :  then  made  a  biting  speech  about 
their  cowardice  and  short-sighted  policy  ;  a  speech 
that  made  every  man  regret  his  action,  and  on  the 
first  suggestion  agree  to  advance  all  that  had  been 
paid  them,  that  the  body  of  workmen  in  the  mine 
might  be  doubled. 

And  Mr.  Henshaw  was  delighted,  and  promised  to 
make  his  work  still  more  sure  and  honest ;  with  a 
doubled  corps  of  workmen  why  need  he  hurry  and  so 
leave  careless  work  to  mar  his  reputation  ?  This  mine 
was  bound  to  succeed,  and  with  its  success  his  name 
as  an  engineer  would  stand  or  fall. 

So  the  spring  days  came  and  went,  each  one  a  little 
warmer  and  giving  no  sign  of  the  late  snows  prophe- 
sied, but  melting  the  frozen  masses  that  had  gathered 
during  the  winter  :  and  the  streams  were  many  and 
unusually  full. 

The  people  in  the  two  towns  were  quiet  now  save 
for  the  coming  of  the  railway,  and  the  rumor  of  a 
great  excursion.  For  now  the  time  was  approaching 
when  the  Board  of  Directors  of  the  "  Eureka,  Bur- 
den's and  Great  Western  Railway  "  were  to  come  out 
in  special  trains,  and  drive  "  last  spikes,"  and  make 
speeches,  and  spend  money  to  make  the  venture  bet- 
ter known.  It  was  a  grand  affair,  this  railway,  and 


JERRY.  387 

must  be  advertised  that  in  the  future  it  might  give 
grand  results  :  and  these  great  Directors  must  be  en- 
tertained,— and  the  treasury  was  low. 

If  only  Jerry  had  kept  in  hand  old  Joe's  patiently 
gathered  treasure — or  if  he  could  have  been  his  own 
engineer  and  have  declared  a  dividend. 

But  new  hope  came  to  Jerry  in  the  news  that  more 
"  Durden's  "  had  been  bought  for  him,  as  it  was  still 
rising,  for  this  assured  him  at  least  that  Paul  had  not 
injured  his  scheme  as  yet.  So  he  borrowed  more 
money  and  set  about  making  the  greatest  arrange- 
ments possible  to  Durden's,  for  the  reception  of  the 
coming  magnates  ;  and  galvanized  his  dead  enthusi- 
asm to  rouse  the  people  to  a  more  proper  sense  of  the 
coming  event,  and  to  awaken  in  them  the  high  hopes 
that  he  was  now  too  weary  to  entertain.  For  now  he 
felt  that  he  was  driven  on  and  held  up  to  his  purpose 
more  through  fear  of  failure  than  through  the  real- 
ized value  of  what  he  was  striving  for.  But  also  he 
knew  that  now  for  him  there  was  no  choice,  for  as  he 
looked  back,  every  barrier  that  had  hindered  his  on- 
ward march  seemed  to  have  doubled  in  strength  once 
he  had  passed  it  :  what  had  been  hard  to  pass, 
now  became  impossible  to  repass  ;  and  he  saw  with 
growing  despair  that  there  was  no  retracing  his  steps  : 
his  mistakes  held  him  in  worse  than  Egyptian  bond- 
age. There  was  no  middle  way  for  him  now,  the  end 
must  be  either  an  absolute  success,  or  an  overwhelm- 
ing failure  ;  and  even  the  thought  of  failure  had  be- 
come torture  too  exquisite  to  be  borne  ;  no  toil  that 
might  avert  this  could  be  too  hard, — no  risk  could  be 
too  dangerous  that  might  gain  success  for  him  ! 

And  two  bands  of  silver  came  in  the  dark  hair  on 
his  temples,  and  the  light  in  his  eyes  had  become  an 
unhealthy  glitter. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  '  Waiting  to  strive  a  happy  strife, 
To  war  with  falsehood  to  the  knife, 
And  not  to  lose  the  good  of  life — 

'  As  far  as  might  be  to  carve  out 
Free  space  for  every  human  doubt, 
That  the  whole  mind  might  orb  about.' 

'  Yea,'  saith  the  voice,  '  thy  dream  was  good 
While  thou  abodest  in  the  bud, 
It  was  the  stirring  of  the  blood.'  " 

JERRY  made  a  speech  in  which  the  people  did  not 
see  the  effort,  and  a  small  sum  was  gathered  to 
provide  for  the  reception  of  the  excursion  party. 
"What  weuns  eats  ever  day  is  good  enough  fur  them, 
I  reckon,"  and  Mrs.  Milton  gave  a  dollar,  "  an'  I'll 
tuck  in  three  'thout  chargin'  no  bo'de,"  and  Jerry 
telegraphed  that  the  sleeping-cars  must  be  brought 
the  whole  way. 

He  thought  much  on  the  subject,  and  knew  that  he 
would  be  doing  well  if  he  could  rouse  the  people  to 
the  necessity  of  seeing  that  the  strangers  had  enough 
to  eat ;  more  than  this  was  impossible,  and  he  would 
not  suggest  even  any  further  effort.  So  he  made  a 
list  of  the  strangers  coming,  and  put  them  about  with 
the  people  according  to  the  number  they  each  agreed 
to  provide  food  for  ;  then  wrote  a  letter  explaining  as 
best  he  might  the  customs  and  resources  of  the  place, 
and  the  type  of  accommodations  that  could  be  fur- 
nished. 

And  the  Directors  laughed,  and  prepared  as  for  a 
great  picnic.  What  did  they  care  for  the  feelings  of 

388 


JERRY.  389 

these  wild  borderers — feelings  Jerry  had  used  all  his 
power  to  rouse  successfully  into  a  state  of  hospitality; 
what  did  they  think  of  the  eager  expectation  of  mak- 
ing a  show,  that  possessed  the  hearts  of  the  Burden's 
people  ;  what  did  they  realize  of  the  willingness  to 
help  Mr.  Wilkerson,  and  the  latent  pride  the  people 
had  in  this  man  who  was  one  of  themselves,  yet  power- 
ful enough  to  have  influence  with  these  "  money- 
princes  ";  and  further,  how  could  they  appreciate  the 
precarious  position  of  this  young  man,  who  not  so 
long  ago  had  moved  among  them  as  one  of  them- 
selves, but  who  had  to  be  now  one  of  the  mob  ? 

They  stocked  their  train  with  every  delicacy  ;  they 
carried  a  full  corps  of  servants  ;  they  spent  great 
sums  in  transporting,  without  jarring,  much  priceless 
wine  ;  and  put  on  an  extra  car  for  a  few  wives  and 
daughters  who  were  "  ecstatic  and  wild  to  see  the  ro- 
mantic western  life  ;  the  dear  miners,  and  the  heroic 
women  who  were  brave  enough  to  share  their  frontier 
life," — which  was  not  frontier  life,  but  hopelessly 
within  the  border  for  the  excitement  of  Indians,  or  of 
anything  more  romantic  than  wild  creatures  and 
tramps.  An  old  mining  town  that  had  been  de- 
serted and  kept  in  the  shade  for  twenty  odd  years — 
that  had  been  given  over  as  a  failure  until  one  year 
ago.  Of  course  the  frontier  was  across  the  plains  by 
this  time,  and  all  the  Indian  agencies  and  reservations 
seemed  as  far  from  Burden's,  almost,  as  the  great 
eastern  cities. 

But  these  people  from  the  centers  of  American  civ- 
ilization and  luxury  did  not  realize  this:  to  them  the 
South  and  West  were  unknown  parts  of  the  earth — 
the  South  meant  oranges,  and  flowers,  and  "  Ku- 
Klux  ";  and  the  West  meant  Indians  and  gold  mines. 
And  Indians  were  all  the  "  Last  of  the  Mohicans," 
and  gold  mines  were  beautiful  grottos  where  stalwart 
men,  clothed  in  red  and  blue  shirts  and  spotless 
white  trowsers,  carelessly  gathered  shining  lumps  of 
gold. 


39°  JERRY. 

And  Jerry  worked  hard  to  make  the  town  look 
clean  after  the  hard  winter,  so  that  the  excursionists 
would  not  be  too  much  disappointed. 

"  My  mother  and  sister  will  come,"  Greg  said, 
'•  but  against  my  advice." 

"  You  may  have  my  house  prepared  for  them," 
Jerry  answered  quickly. 

Greg  shook  his  head. 

"  They  must  remain  in  the  sleeper,"  he  said  ;  "  it 
will  be  for  two  days  only.  I  can  not  make  them  as 
comfortable  anywhere  as  they  will  be  there  ;  but  I 
thank  you  very  much.  By  the  way,"  pausing  doubt- 
fully, "  Henley  is  come, — arrived  this  morning." 

"  Did  he  ? "  and  Jerry's  pen  moved  none  the  less 
steadily  because  the  beating  of  his  heart  had  doubled. 

"  I  have  not  seen  him,"  Greg  went  on,  "  but  he 
sent  me  the  news  of  my  mother's  coming  ;  I  believe 
he  expects  to  entertain  many  people." 

"  Your  people  ? "  and  for  the  first  time  Jerry  looked 
up. 

"  Not  with  my  consent,"  Greg  answered,  coming 
nearer  this  man  who  puzzled  him  so  often,  "  you  know 
that  I  do  not  trust  Henley." 

Jerry  returned  to  his  work. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  make  your  house  or  my 
house  ready  for  them,"  he  said. 

But  Greg  would  not  agree  ;  he  was  sure  that  the 
car  would  be  the  best  place  for  them.  Then  he  left 
Jerry  to  his  work,  and  going  down  the  road  met  Paul 
Henley — Paul  Henley  who  grasped  both  his  hands  ; 
who  was  dressed  as  would  be  Greg's  civilized  friends, 
giving  him  a  home  look  ;  who  rattled  off  the  eastern 
news;  who  was  grateful  to  Greg's  mother  and  sister  for 
bringing  his  adopted  sister  out  with  them,  and  who 
was  dreadfully  anxious  that  everything  in  the  doc- 
tor's house  should  be  in  proper  order  to  receive 
them. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  your  mother  and  sister 
will  stay  with  me  ?  "  he  finished. 


JERRY.  391 

"  No,"  Greg  answered  bluntly,  "  no,  I  did  not  know 
it." 

"  Well,  they  will,"  and  Paul  watched  Greg  keenly. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Greg  answered,  his  brown 
face  showing  more  color  than  he  would  have  liked  if 
he  had  seen  himself,  "  but  I  think  they  had  better 
stay  in  the  sleeper." 

Paul  laughed. 

"  Your  mother's  only  objection  to  coming  was  her 
dislike  to  the  sleeper,"  he  said. 

Greg  walked  on  a  little  space  in  silence  :  he  did 
not  trust  Paul  Henley  ;  he  was  angry  with  himself 
that  he  had  not  warned  his  family  against  this  man  ; 
he  was  provoked  that  they  should  have  agreed  to 
stop  at  Paul's  house,  and  he  determined  to  make  an 
effort  to  change  all  these  plans.  His  house  could  be 
prepared  for  them,  or  Jerry's  house — he  would  go  and 
see  Jerry  about  it. 

"  You  have  never  met  my  adopted  sister  ?  "  Paul 
went  on. 

"  No,"  and  Greg  looked  interested  ;  he  could  not 
but  look  interested  when  a  man  talked  to  him  of  his 
sister. 

"  She  has  no  notion  of  taking  care  of  herself,"  Paul 
went  on,  "  and  could  not  have  come  unless  with  your 
mother,  and  she  and  your  sister  are  friends." 

"  Are  they  ? "  and  Greg  felt  that  his  plans  were 
becoming  impossible. 

"  And  you  had  better  come  to  my  house  also," 
Paul  went  on,  "and  stay  while  your  mother  and  sister 
are  with  me,  you  can  then  see  so  much  more  of  them." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Greg  answered,  "  but  I  have 
made  other  arrangements  for  them." 

"  The  '  sleeper  '  ?  "  laughing  amiably  ;  "  that  is  im- 
possible, for  I  promised  your  mother  that  so  soon  as 
they  reached  Eureka  I  should  have  them  transported 
to  the  most  civilized  house  in  the  place,  and  that  you 
should  come  and  stay  with  them  ;  so  do  not  trouble 
yourself  needlessly,  and  deprive  me  of  this  pleasure." 


392  JERRY. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Greg  said  again,  then  turned 
off  toward  the  mine. 

What  would  Wilkerson  say  ?  was  his  first  thought ; 
then  angrily  he  asked  himself,  what  right  had  Jerry  to 
say  anything  ?  No  right  in  the  world  ;  and  in  his 
secret  heart  Greg  knew  that  Jerry  would  not  say  one 
word  ;  probably  he  would  not  look  at  him,  but  go  on 
quietly  with  whatever  he  might  be  doing. 

This  was  the  sore  spot,  that  Jerry  could  and  prob- 
ably would  listen  to  his  words  of  explanation  silently, 
then  quietly  put  him  and  his  mother  and  sister  aside 
with  Paul  Henley,  and  go  on  his  own  way. 

And  if  Jerry  did,  what  matter  to  him  ?  he  had  not 
espoused  Jerry's  side  to  any  extent  ;  he  had  not  be- 
come an  intimate  of  Jerry's  :  his  father  had  advised 
against  this,  and  he  had  acquiesced.  Still, — and  Greg 
quickened  his  pace,  and  drove  his  hands  deeper  into 
his  pockets  :  he  despised  Paul  Henley,  and  he  was 
learning  to  value  strangely  Jerry's  approbation  and 
good  will  ;  was  growing  anxious  to  break  through 
the  reserve  and  silence  in  which  Jerry  wrapped  him- 
self. And  that  this  should  be  thus  was  the  heart  of 
the  problem  for  Greg  :  why  should  this  man  be  of  any 
special  importance  to  him  ?  Jerry  had  no  higher 
aims  now  than  many  men  Greg  knew,  no  higher 
motives, — why  should  Greg  wish  for  his  friendship  ? 
Jerry  had  grown  selfish,  intensely  selfish.  At  first 
there  had  been  at  the  root  of  his  work  the  desire  for 
the  good  of  the  many  ;  this  had  been  the  enthusiasm 
that  had  set  the  work  in  motion,  as  well  as  the  force 
that  had  been  at  first  the  motive  power  ;  but  Greg  knew 
that  this  enthusiasm  was  dead  :  how  he  knew  this,  or 
when  this  force  had  died,  he  could  not  tell,  but  the 
fact  of  its  death  dwelt  with  him,  and  strange  to  say, 
had  raised  Jerry  in  his  estimation  as  a  practical  man  ! 
The  loss  of  the  higher  motive  that  had  seemed  chimer- 
ical, gave  the  venture  a  solidity  that  enhanced  Greg's 
faith  in  it,  and  increased  his  respect  for  Jerry. 

It  had  seemed  weak  to  him  at  first,  this  plan  to  im- 


JERRY.  393 

prove  a  town  for  the  good  of  the  town's  people,  and 
not  as  a  speculation  ;  to  build  up  a  community  that 
possibly  would  help  all,  but  positively  would  make 
the  fortune  of  no  one  person  :  it  had  seemed  wild 
and  unstable,  and  a  mere  waste  of  energy  :  it  was 
against  the  spirit  of  the  age  that  was  for  monopoly, 
even  though  it  might  go  hand  in  hand  with  the  theory 
of  the  age  which  was  for  humanity.  This  theory  was 
wrong  ;  it  would  weaken  any  man  to  help  all  about 
him,  and  to  be  helped  in  return.  Every  man  must 
fight  through  his  own  life,  and  shape  his  own  for- 
tunes ;  every  man  must  run  his  own  race  and  win  his 
own  prize  ;  this  it  was  that  made  men  of  Americans  ! 
The  national  creed  that  every  man  was  free  to  run  ; 
every  man  had  equal  chances  ;  every  man  could  have 
all  he  could  get  and  hold  against  the  odds  brought  to 
force  his  gains  from  him  :  this  made  men  strong  and 
hard  for  the  battle,  and  this  was  what  had  at  last 
made  him  look  up  to,  and  respect  Jerry  ;  this  very 
power  to  take  all  he  wanted, — to  guide  all  to  suit  his 
will,  and  yet  to  build  all  on  the  fair  foundation  of  the 
public  good  ! 

Greg  was  forced  into  admiration — Paul  was  forced 
into  envy  and  malice. 

And  Greg  went  home  angry  with  himself  that  he 
had  not  guided  his  steps  better  than  to  wander  from 
under  the  shadow  of  this  man's  power.  This  man 
whose  power  was  bound  to  increase  because  daily  he 
was  learning  the  motto  of  the  Age — "  Every  man  for 
himself."  If  every  man  stop  to  help  his  brother  ;  to 
'  pour  in  oil  and  wine  '  and  bring  him  to  a  safe  rest- 
ing-place, who  could  first  reach  the  goal  ?  who  could 
do  more  than  win  food  and  raiment,  if  this  were  the 
code  ?  The  creed  of  individualism  can  permit  no 
such  weakness  as  this  ;  the  narrower  the  aim,  and  the 
harder  the  heart,  the  surer  the  success  ! 

The  creed  of  Individualism  and  the  Creed  of  the 
Christ  touch  but  at  one  point :  "  Thou  canst  not  serve 
God  and  Mammon." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

"  For  every  worm  beneath  the  moon 
Draws  different  threads,  and  late  and  soon, 
Spins,  toiling  out  his  own  cocoon." 

BURDEN'S  was  in  a  stir,  and  pulsed  and  throbbed 
under  its  ugly  covering  of  slush  and  grimy  snow  : 
Burden's  had  never  seen  such  times  and  in  its 
wildest  dreams  had  never  pictured  such  excitement. 

A  shanty  had  been  put  up  in  Eureka  and  called 
the  "  Depot,"  and  one  small  locomotive  had  made 
the  run  over  the  road  that  was  barely  laid,  and  en- 
tirely unsafe.  Still,  the  directors  could  not  come  at 
any  other  time,  and  they  had  made  it  quite  plain  that 
the  salvation  of  the  two  towns,  the  mines  and  the 
railway,  depended  on  their  coming  to  see  and  to  ad- 
vertise things.  So  the  track  was  laid,  not  built,  to 
Eureka  and  on  to  Durden's,  that  the  imaginary  last 
spike  might  be  driven  by  some  portly  director  or  his 
wife,  or  his  daughter  ;  that  the  reporters  might  be 
there  to  telegraph  this  wonderful  town-growth  to  all 
the  important  daily  papers  ;  that  the  artists  in  the 
great  cities  might  make  the  pictures  of  the  event  so  that 
the  people  in  the  provinces  might  see  it  all  in  their 
illustrated  journals  before  it  had  really  occurred  !  All 
this  was  necessary  to  the  success  of  the  towns,  and 
to  the  welfare  of  the  railway  :  things  must  be  ad- 
vertised else  they  should  die.  Everyone  having  been 
convinced  of  these  facts,  a  great  excursion  at  half 
rates  was  advertised,  and  a  suitable  number  of  the 
moneyed  elect  invited  to  go  out  and  patronize  this 
new  town  of  Durden's,  that  was  different  from  any 
other  town  in  that  it  was  founded  and  organized  on 
the  newest  theories,  and  worked  on  the  plan  of  pure 

394 


JERRY.  395 

equality,  that  had  been  the  problem  of  philanthropists 
and  philosophers  through  all  the  ages  !  So  the  news- 
papers said. 

Alas  !  a  town  that  had  become  a  dreadful  burden 
and  puzzle  to  its  author  ! 

And  Burden's,  reading  all  this  in  Dan  Burk's  paper, 
felt  very  proud  and  important  ;  and  was  fully  pre- 
pared to  patronize  these  "  city  folks  "  who  were  com- 
ing out  to  see  this  remarkable  town.  And  Jerry  was 
glad,  for  the  people  were  much  more  willing  to  help 
in  his  preparations  and  plans. 

The  paths  that  answered  for  sidewalks  were  put  in 
order,  the  houses  were  thoroughly  cleaned,  a  new 
path  was  made  to  the  mine,  and  on  the  few  sunshiny 
clays  everything  in  Burden's  seemed  to  be  washed  and 
hung  out  to  dry. 

All  was  moving  smoo'thly,  when  suddenly  the  tem- 
per of  the  people  seemed  to  change,  and  Jerry  heard 
murmurs  about  spending  so  much  money  and  about 
the  dividend  that  had  not  been  declared. 

"  Paul  is  at  work,"  he  said  to  himself ;  and  the 
clew  was  put  into  his  hands  by  Mrs.  Milton. 

"  An'  you  hed  better  know,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  she 
said,  while  putting  his  supper  on  the  table  with  more 
than  usual  emphasis,  "  thet  if  these  city  folks  is  rich, 
an'  is  youuns*  frien's,  they  aint  agoin'  to  stomp  on 
noner  us,  ner  change  nothin'  in  this  town,  they  aint, 
if  Mr.  Henley  as  knows  'em  do  say  it  ;  an'  you 
hed  better  tell  'em  so,  Jerry  Wilkerson,  or  Burden's 

will." 

It  was  after  a  hard  day's  work  that  this  revelation, 
for  it  was  a  revelation,  came  to  Jerry  ;  and  he  did  not 
answer  the  old  woman — he  did  not  wish  to  until  he 
had  collected  his  thoughts  somewhat,  so  went  on  with 
his  supper  diligently,  as  if  this  were  his  reason  for 
not  talking. 

"  Paul  Henley,  thet  were  borned  rich,"  Mrs.  Milton 
began  again,  "  he  don't  take  on  like  he  were  too  good, 
he  dont  ;  he  jes  goes  roun'  alonger  orl  the  boys, 


396  JERR  Y. 

jest  fur  orl  the  worl'  like  he  were  a  pore   boy  too,  he 
does." 

And  now  Jerry  did  not  answer,  because  he  saw  that 
it  would  do  no  good.  Paul  Henley  had  produced  his 
impression,  and  these  people  were  not  capable  of  re- 
ceiving more  than  one  impression  at  a  time  ;  and  this 
silence  was  so  often  his  way  with  Mrs.  Milton  that  she 
scarcely  noticed  it. 

It  was  her  method  to  give  her  opinions  and  advice 
while  Jerry  was  busy  with  his  dinner  or  his  supper, 
because,  as  she  would  explain — 

"  It's  a  good  time  to  say  youuns'  say,  'cause  thar 
aint  the  man  livin'  as'll  stop  eatin'  to  jaw  back  ;  jest 
you  bet  on  that,"  and  Jerry  often  verified  her 
theory,  and  was  glad  to  do  it  on  this  occasion  ;  and 
without  reply  went  away  to  the  issuing  of  rations, 
and  the  doing  of  numberless  odd  jobs  that  were  crowd- 
ing on  him  more  and  more  as  the  time  drew  near  for 
the  great  excursion. 

He  could  not  stop  to  think  now,  it  was  impossible 
to  pause  long  enough  to  gather  together  his 
thoughts ;  his  thoughts  that,  notwithstanding  his 
preparation  and  expectation  of  Paul's  attack,  were 
scattered  wildly  by  the  strangeness  of  the  quarter 
from  whence  it  came.  He  held  the  clew,  however,  to 
Paul's  course  of  action,  and  to  that  extent  was  more 
safe  ;  and  while  he  worked  even  though  with  both 
mind  and  body,  directing,  measuring,  counting, 
weighing,  his  scattered  forces  gathered  themselves 
about  this  new  center,  and  worked  out  counter-plans. 
Mrs.  Milton's  words  had  revealed  much  ;  had  con- 
nected much  for  him  ;  had  given  him  the  key  to 
Paul's  intentions.  Paul  was  trying  to  undermine  him 
in  the  eyes  of  the  people  by  telling  them  that  the 
laws  of  the  town  would  bind  them,  but  not  Mr.  Wil- 
kerson's  rich  friends.  Not  a  very  clever  plan,  Jerry 
thought,  and  one  easily  foiled.  Next  day  at  the 
meeting  of  the  town  committee  he  would  move  that 
all  the  laws  of  the  Commune  should  be  strictly  en- 


JERRY.  397 

forced  during  the  stay  of  the  strangers.  This  would 
open  the  people's  eyes  :  and  the  ease  of  his  coun- 
ter-move made  him  suspect  that  this  was  a  ruse  to 
throw  him  off  his  guard  ;  Paul's  plans  must  be 
deeper  than  this. 

On  the  morning  of  this  same  day  Greg  had  told 
him  that  his  mother  and  sister  would  stay  with  Hen- 
ley, that  the  arrangement  had  been  made  before 
Henley  left  New  York  :  and  Jerry  had  answered  that 
they  would  be  more  comfortable  there  ;  but  that  he 
would  not  be  able  to  see  anything  of  them  ;  then  had 
gone  on  with  his  work  in  so  undisturbed  a  way  that 
Greg — though  to  some  extent  he  had  expected  just 
this  action — felt  a  little  angry. 

His  people  had  been  very  kind  to  Jerry,  he  remem- 
bered, and  Jerry  ought  to  be  more  troubled  about  not 
seeing  them  :  still,  if  he  were  not,  it  was  not  Greg's 
place  to  remonstrate. 

Then  Jerry  had  heard  of  Paul  and  Engineer  Mills 
putting  in  order  many  of  the  empty  houses  in  Eureka, 
and  arranging  them  as  lodgings  for  the  excursionists. 
Paul  was  unusually  energetic  and  interested  ;  and 
Jerry  listened  and  watched  closely. 

His  move  in  the  committee,  that  the  laws  be  strictly 
enforced  during  the  stay  of  the  strangers,  was  warmly 
seconded  and  carried  ;  no  drink  was  to  be  allowed 
except  beer,  and  men  who  got  drunk  over  in  Eureka 
must  stay  there  until  they  recovered.  No  drunken- 
ness nor  rioting  was  to  be  tolerated  in  Burden's. 

And  Jerry  walked  home  wondering  what  he  would 
hear  next.  And  he  had  not  long  to  wait :  the  next 
day  the  news  came  to  him  that  Paul  had  repaired  and 
improved  Dave  Morris's  old  shop  in  Eureka,  and  had 
stocked  and  opened  it  as  a  "  Bar-room  and  Eating 
Saloon."  Dan  Burk  told  him  of  it,  and  had  added 
that  his  wife  was  to  attend  the  eating-room,  and  a 
new  man  from  the  East  was  to  keep  the  bar. 

"  It's  to  be  fine,"  Dan  added,  "  and  good  vittles  for 
mighty  little." 


398  JERR  Y. 

"That  is  economical  at  least,"  Jerry  had  answered, 
while  his  mind  began  to  follow  Paul's  plans. 

A  very  sure  game  for  a  man  whom  Greg  had  de- 
scribed as  unscrupulous.  And  to  put  Mrs.  Burk  in 
the  front  of  his  venture  was  a  clever  move  :  as  the 
standard  of  Durden's  went,  Mrs.  Burk  was  a  society 
leader  ;  she  could  read  and  write,  and  took  much  to 
herself  from  the  fact  of  her  superior  education,  and 
the  people  regarded  her  as  a  person  of  some  impor- 
tance. 

In  the  course  Paul  was  pursuing,  a  woman  was  the 
best  tool.  Mrs.  Burk's  tongue  was  endless,  which 
was  one  good  way  of  advertising  the  "  saloon,"  besides 
being  most  admirable  for  the  spreading  of  any  reports 
Paul  might  wish  to  have  scattered  abroad  :  added  to 
this,  she  would  make  the  place  attractive  for  women, 
and  the  men  would  soon  follow. 

Jerry  pushed  the  fire  a  little  uneasily  as  he  sat 
thinking  :  he  had  been  such  a  fool  ;  such  a  fool  to 
banish  so  great  a  power  as  drink  ;  such  a  wonderful 
factor  as  it  was  in  keeping  the  people  satisfied 
and  unquestioning :  such  a  wretched  fool  !  Joe  had 
warned  him  of  this — wise  old  Joe  had  said  that  these 
people  wanted  nothing  so  much  as  corn  bread,  and 
dirt,  and  whisky,  and  that  they  would  have  it.  And 
in  the  silence  words  came  back  to  him,  words  he  had 
heard  that  day,  but  that  he  had  not  heeded  properly 
until  ncrw.  A  man  had  said  "  Mr.  Henley  aint 
above  ownin'  a  shop,  nor  sellin'  whisky," — and  Jerry 
had  passed  on,  not  seeming  to  hear. 

And  he  understood  it  all,  and  could  see  the  poison 
working  in  the  minds  of  the  people. 

If  only  this  wretched  excursion  were  over,  and  he 
left  free  to  counter-mine,  he  could  play  the  same 
game  :  he  would  work  things  round  until  the  people 
would  not  be  able  to  understand  anything  but  that 
things  had  changed  ;  he  would  do  anything,  he  would 
put  half  he  owned  into  the  town  in  order  to  win  the 
game  against  Paul. 


JERRY.  399 

He  paused  suddenly  in  his  thinking,  and  pushed 
the  fire  until  it  blazed  and  roared  up  the  chimney  : 
there  was  one  easy  way  out  of  it  all  ;  and  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  his 
head. 

Run  the  Burden's  stock  up  as  high  as  possible, 
then  sellout  quietly  from  the  whole  affair.  He  could 
retain  power  long  enough  to  accomplish  this  ;  and  do 
it  while  Paul  was  involving  himself  in  new  ventures  and 
expenses  in  order  to  undermine  him  :  sell  out  quickly 
and  leave  Paul  neck- deep  in  a  troublesome  specu- 
lation. 

He  laughed  a  little,  and  turned  the  thought  over  in 
his  mind  :  it  did  not  seem  so  black  now  as  it  had 
done.  The  people  no  longer  cared  for  him  ;  already 
they  were  becoming  adherents  of  Paul  Henley's ;  and 
they  were  not  worth  that  he  should  sacrifice  anything 
for  them.  For  years  and  years  the  doctor  had  been 
their  friend,  and  in  a  week  they  had  all  turned  away 
from  him  :  why  should  he  think  of  them?  True, they 
had  invested  in  the  town  and  in  the  mine  because  he 
had  told  them  to  do  it ;  but  in  return  he  had  kept 
them  sober  for  months,  had  given  them  more  comfort- 
able homes  and  more  decent  habits  than  they  had 
ever  known  :  and  besides,  there  was  no  reason  why 
either  the  town  or  the  mine  should  fail  because  he 
withdrew. 

Give  up  the  mine  and  Burden's — give  up  his 
millions  that  lay  hidden  down  there  under  the  earth 
where  Joe's  patient  feet  had  trod  day  after  day  to 
amass  the  gold  that  now,  strangely  enough,  had  gone 
back  into  the  mine — had  all  gone  back  to  try  to  bring 
out  more  ! 

Strange,  very  strange  !  if  he  had  thought  of  this  he 
would  not  have  invested  all  in  the  mine — Joe  had 
warned  him. 

He  got  up  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  once 
or  twice  :  his  pulse  was  beating  faster,  and  he  felt 
the  blood  burning  in  his  face. 


4°o  JERR  Y. 

Give  up  Burden's  and  not  make  his  millions — give 
up  Burden's  and  his  power  and  position  :  go  away 
from  the  only  place  and  people  he  had  ever  known  ; 
give  up  his  individual  glory  and  his  little  kingdom  ; 
admit  himself  foiled,  and  his  scheme  a  failure, — leave 
Paul  victorious  even  though  the  victory  should  be 
death  ! 

He  shook  his  clenched  fist. 

Never  ! 

He  would  rather  be  buried  under  the  ruins  of  the 
fabric  he  had  created,  than  lay  down  his  arms  ! 

How  foolish  this  was  !  Who  would  care  if  he  failed 
and  died  ;  who  would  count  him  a  hero  for  standing 
by  this  venture  ;  who  would  mourn  his  loss  ? 

To  die  now  would  be  like  dropping  a  stone  into  the 
water — one  little  swirl  of  the  tide,  then  gone  !  And 
why  should  he  hate  Paul — Paul  who  had  been  the 
spur  and  power  of  his  life.  If  he  had  never  known 
Paul  as  a  rival,  as  an  enemy  ;  as  a  creature  who  took 
and  held  the  love  and  place  he  had  longed  for,  he 
would  have  been  an  idle  dreamer  still,  planning  im- 
possible schemes  for  the  regeneration  of  his  class.  He 
would  never  have  gone  East — never  have  compelled 
the  doctor  to  go  there  :  and  so  to  wrench  the  hope 
out  of  two  lives  ? 

Never  have  left  Joe  to  go  on  that  wild  adventure, 
whatever  it  might  have  been  :  that  post  him  his  life  ? 

Never  have  found  the  money  :  nor  invested  it  so 
wildly  ? 

Not  have  lost  his  only  friend  and  protector  :  nor 
involved  himself  in  this  net  that  was  closing  about 
him — binding  him  until  he  writhed  and  bled.  Never 
have  lost  the  peace  and  quiet  of  his  days  :  never  have 
fallen  so  low  as  he  was  now — now  when  he  was  willing 
to  stoop  to  anything — to  sacrifice  anything  to  make 
and  save  money  ! 

But  for  Paul  he  would  have  still  retained  his  self- 
respect. 

He  laughed. 


JERRY.  401 

Now  he  was  a  fool.  He  was  not  obliged  to  make  a 
decision  at  this  moment  :  he  could  run  up  Burden's 
stock,  and  the  manipulation  would  help  him  in  any 
case  ;  and  he  would  write  to  his  broker  immediately. 

It  was  a  relief  to  have  something  to  do,  and  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  rapidly.  A  peremptory  letter  it  was, 
directing  that  every  known  mode  should  be  pursued 
that  could  force  the  stock  up  :  that  his  name  and  his 
credit  should  be  used  in  any  way  and  to  any  extent 
to  further  this  end, — and  after  this  Mr.  Glendale  was 
to  stand  ready  to  sell  at  a  moment's  notice — he  would 
telegraph  his  orders. 

And  the  broker  read  the  letter  with  a  satisfied  feel- 
ing when  he  remembered  that  he  had  sold  his  Dur- 
den's  stock  to  his  client;  and  being  uninterested,  calmly 
began  to  make  preparations  to  execute  these  very 
doubtfully  wise  orders. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  We  talked  on  fast,  while  every  common  word 
Seemed  tangled  with  the  thunder  at  one  end, 
And  ready  to  pull  down  upon  our  heads 
A  terror  out  of  sight." 

DURDEN'S  stood  on  tiptoe  ! 
Preparations  had  been  made  that  seemed  grand 
and  luxurious  in  the  eyes  of  the  town  :  the  Town 
Committee  had  met  and  elected  a  "  Committee  of  Ar- 
rangements," while  the  whole  population  turned  out 
as  a  committee  of  reception. 

As  there  was  not  even  a  shanty  in  Burden's  which 
could  be  used  as  a  station,  Burden's  had  built  a  shed  ; 
a  shed  that  meant  money,  as  labor  and  lumber  were 
expensive  :  a  shed  that,  Burden's  magnanimously 
announced,  would  not  cost  the  railway  company  any- 
thing !  A  shed  that  Burden's  was  proud  of  in  a  reck- 
less, careless,  bountiful  sort  of  way  :  when  they  did 
things  in  Burden's,  they  did  them  "  rale  han'some  !  " 

Many  had  gone  to  Eureka  to  see  the  entrance  of 
the  grand  train — the  grand  train  that  was  obliged  to 
come  in  very  slowly  on  account  of  the  insecurity  of 
the  track  :  these  people  intended  to  board  the  train, 
if  possible,  and  come  back  as  an  escort  of  honor,  and 
receive  the  guests  in  grand  style  under  the  Burden's 
shed,  where  the  great  body  of  the  town's-people  waited 
in  hungry  excitement  for  this  greatest  event  of  their 
lives. 

Two  nights  before,  a  light  snow  had  fallen,  which 
melting  within  twelve  hours  had  reduced  the  partially 
dried  roads  to  the  consistency  of  soft-soap,  and  had 
caused  every  small  stream  and  rivulet  to  double  its 
size  instantly.  Jerry  and  Mr.  Henshaw  were  anxious, 

402 


JERR  Y.  403 

miserably  anxious,  though  Jerry  gave  no  sign  ;  but 
his  heart  was  quaking  and  his  pockets  felt  empty,  for 
the  main  stream  was  as  full  as  could  be  esteemed  safe, 
and  too  full  to  let  the  shareholders  think  of  the  mine  as 
an  entirely  trustworthy  investment. 

"  They  will  not  know  that  this  has  been  an  unusual 
winter,"  Mr.  Henshaw  said  despondingly  ;  "  they  will 
judge  of  things  only  as  they  see  them,"  and  he  looked 
at  Jerry  mournfully  over  his  spectacles. 

"  Very  true,"  Jerry  answered  quietly,  "  and  we  can 
only  hope  that  the  stream  will  subside  a  little  before 
to-morrow  ;  they  will  not  have  time  to  go  to  the  dam 
to-day." 

"  So!  "  and  Mr.  Henshaw  looked  admiringly  at  Jerry, 
who  seemed  always  to  find  the  right  way  out  of  a  dif- 
ficulty, "  I  had  not  thought  of  that ;  of  course  they 
can  not  go  up  to-day — of  course  not,"  and  he  took  his 
way  down  to  the  reception  shed  in  a  calm  and  peace- 
ful frame  of  mind. 

All  the  town  was  there  ;  everybody  in  their  best ; 
everybody  eager  to  see  and  to  hear  ;  everybody  full 
of  importance  as  to  the  guests  consigned  to  them. 

Jerry  had  told  them  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
ladies  who  would  go  to  Mr.  Henley's,  the  people  would 
live  in  the  train  probably,  and  only  would  have  to  be 
provided  with  food  :  he  had  made  a  point  of  telling 
them  this,  fearing  dissatisfaction  or  misunderstanding. 
Also,  he  had  spent  much  thought  on  his  dress  ; 
should  he  wear  his  usual  Burden's  suit,  with  his  rough 
trowsers  tucked  inside  his  boots,  and  his  pistols  in  his 
belt  ;  or  should  he  put  on  the  clothes  he  had  brought 
from  the  East  ? 

He  felt  foolish  because  he  could  not  decide  in- 
stantly, and  angry  with  humanity  that  such  a  trivial 
thing  should  be  of  importance  ;  but  it  was  of  impor- 
tance, and  he  knew  it.  Would  the  people  prefer  that 
their  representative  should  dress  as  they  dressed  ;  or 
that  he  should  look  on  an  equality  with  the  people  who 
were  coming  ? 


404  JERR  Y. 

He  spent  much  thought  on  it,  at  last  deciding  in 
favor  of  his  usual  costume  :  there  was  a  fitness  in  it 
to  the  environment  that  would  be  missing  entirely  in 
his  tailor-made  clothes.  He  dressed  most  carefully, 
with  an  unacknowledged  feeling  that  he  would  like  to 
look  well  in  Isabel  Greg's  eyes,  and  wondered  if  she 
would  recognize  him  in  this  Western  guise.  Pshaw  ! 
if  she  did  or  did  not,  what  matter  ?  she  would  stay 
at  Paul  Henley's  house,  so  that  he  could  see  nothing 
of  her — what  matter  how  he  looked  ?  Besides,  she 
would  have  eyes  for  her  brother  only,  whom  she  had 
not  seen  in  a  great  length  of  time.  So  he  hurried 
down  to  the  station,  being  a  little  late,  to  find  the  town 
waiting  and  fuming  over  the  delay  in  Eureka.  The 
train  had  been  heard  and  seen  to  stop  in  Eureka,  at 
least  twenty  minutes  before  Jerry  joined  the  waiting 
town. 

Dan  Burk  and  Dave  Morris  had  gone  over  there, 
the  people  said,  to  see  that  things  were  properly  man- 
aged, and  the  train  properly  welcomed.  Twenty  min- 
utes ago  the  train  had  stopped,  and  since  then  there 
had  been  no  sign  of  its  moving  on  ;  and  yet  there 
was  nothing  to  keep  them  in  Eureka. 

Jerry  listened,  but  made  no  comment,  even  though 
he  was  surprised  :  he  had  expected  them  to  pause  in 
Eureka  simply  because  it  was  Eureka,  but  only  for 
five  or  ten  minutes  ! 

Gradually  the  grumbling  grew  louder  and  more  im- 
patient, as  through  strained  eyes  the  people  watched 
the  train,  announcing  at  short  intervals  that  the  smoke 
from  the  engine  was  rapidly  lessening.  Had  any  ac- 
cident happened  ? 

Thirty  minutes  passed,  and  many  more  in  their 
wake,  when  a  voice  in  the  rear  of  the  crowd  said  in  a 
smothered  tone — 

"Hullo!" 

The  murmurs  had  been  loud  and  continuous,  and 
this  exclamation  was  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  yet 


JERRY.  405 

every  man,  woman,  and  child  turned,  for  there  was 
something  in  the  tone  that  defied  indifference. 

Jerry  drew  a  sharp  breath  between  his  teeth  :  driv- 
ing by  as  rapidly  as  the  road  would  permit,  was  Paul 
Henley  with  a  large  wagon  full  of  ladies  going  to  the 
doctor's  house,  and  behind  him  another  wagon  full 
of  gentlemen,  and  driven  by  Greg  ! 

Jerry's  heart  seemed  to  stop  its  beating  :  Paul  had 
outwitted  him  ! 

It  was  a  stupidly  simple  plot  ;  so  stupidly  simple 
that  Jerry  had  not  suspected  it  ;  and  now,  though  he 
understood  it  all  in  a  moment,  he  dared  not  act  on  his 
intuitions.  These  people  could  not  understand  any- 
thing but  a  plainly  demonstrated  fact  ;  and  if  he 
showed  that  he  understood  with  so  little  explanation 
as  two  wagons  full  of  people,  the  town  would  accuse 
him  of  being  in  the  plot  to  give  Mr.  Henley  all  the 
great  guests.  He  must  wait  always  as  they  did,  and 
understand  as  they  did  when  ill  was  about  to  befall 
them  ;  but  good  fortune  he  could  predict  as  far 
ahead  as  he  pleased,  and  be  esteemed  a  prophet ! 

The  people  watched  until  the  wagons  stopped  and 
the  travelers  were  lost  to  sight  in  the  house,  then 
once  more  they  turned  their  attention  to  the  train,  over 
which  only  the  thinnest  cloud  of  smoke  was  visible  : 
what  did  it  mean  ? 

Jerry  knew,  and  as  the  murmurs  grew  loud  about 
him,  he  cursed  himself  bitterly  under  his  breath  ; 
cursed  himself  as  the  blindest  of  fools,  and  Paul  as  the 
most  wily  of  villains. 

He  could  read  it  as  plainly  as  a  book  spread  open 
before  him  :  two  days  ago  Greg  had  gone  to  meet  his 
mother  and  sister  across  the  divide  ;  and  Paul  had 
gone  with  him  to  meet  his  guests  !  And  now  the 
train  had  stopped  in  Eureka,  and  Paul  had  driven 
over  a  wagon  full  of  ladies,  and  Greg  a  wagon  full  of 
gentlemen  to  Paul  Henley's  house  :  had  the  rest  of 
the  excursionists  taken  up  their  abode  in  Eureka  ? 

The  surmise  struck  him  like  a  blow,  and  with  it 


4°6  JERR  y. 

came  the  memory  that  the  railway  company  had  most 
of  its  interests  centered  in  Eureka.  They  owned  all 
the  land  and  houses  in  Eureka,  of  course  it  was  to 
their  interest  that  Eureka  should  advance.  Had  all 
stopped  there  ? 

Louder  and  more  discontented  grew  the  words 
about  him  ;  the  people  were  becoming  more  and  more 
angry  ;  it  was  cold  and  uncomfortable  even  under  the 
wonderful  shed,  and  the  waiting  crowd  were  hungry. 
But  not  even  one  of  the  advance  guard  who  had  gone 
to  meet  the  train  had  come  back  ;  nothing  had  hap- 
pened since  the  thrill  that  went  through  the  populace 
when  the  whistle  of  the  engine  was  first  heard,  and 
now  they  were  weary. 

Curses  were  growing  plentiful,  and  sarcastic  re- 
marks as  to  great  public  festivities,  when  a  cloud  of 
smoke  was  seen  to  issue  from  the  engine,  and  a  sound 
like  a  faint  shout  was  borne  on  the  air  ! 

"  She's  a-comin' ! "  went  from  lip  to  lip,  and  a 
breathless,  strained  silence  ensued  :  surely  the  train 
was  in  motion,  very  slow  on  account  of  the  insecure 
track,  but  still  it  was  moving  !  Once  more  the  excite- 
ment rose  to  fever  heat,  and  the  people  ceased  their 
cursing  and  grumbling,  and  every  eye  watched 
eagerly. 

Every  eye  save  Jerry's. 

He  knew  that  the  day  and  its  triumph  had  been 
stolen  from  him  ;  he  knew  that  the  end  he  worked  for 
would  never  be  accomplished  through  any  good  he 
would  reap  from  this  excursion  :  Paul  Henley  had 
undermined  him.  He  was  certain  of  this  fact,  but  to 
what  extent  Paul  had  cheated  him  he  could  not  know 
until  the  train  arrived. 

How  many  had  gone  with  Paul  did  not  matter  so 
much,  as  the  standing  of  the  men  ;  the  people  in 
Burden's  knew  the  names  of  all  these  magnates  who 
were  coming,  and  from  the  new  settlers,  many  of  them 
sent  out  by  these  great  Directors,  they  had  gathered 
some  knowledge  of  the  moneyed  worth  and  standing 


JERR  Y.  407 

of  these  men,  and  had  contested  as  to  the  entertain- 
ing of  them  ;  a  man's  millions  making  him  great  or 
small. 

More  than  once  Jerry  had  turned  away  from  the 
boasting  of  the  Durdenites  over  the  man  "  who  was 
agoin'  to  eat  with  them  !"  And  now  he  knew  that  all 
these  triumphs  were  gone  hopelessly  :  he  knew  that 
all  the  great  men  had  gone  to  Paul  Henley's  ;  and 
what  would  be  the  upshot  ? 

Slowly  the  train  came  on,  crawling  like  a  great 
worm,  the  more  slowly  when  it  felt  the  upward  grade 
as  it  neared  Durden's,  and  the  excitement  had  time  to 
grow  intense  :  Jerry  caught  it,  and  his  fears  added  to 
it  made  him  angry, — what  would  the  result  be  ? 

Nearer  and  nearer  ;  the  buzz  of  excitement  grow- 
ing into  a  cheer  as  the  engine  gave  a  last  scream  and 
stopped. 

Instinctively  Jerry  turned  and  looked  toward  the 
doctor's  house — what  made  him  he  could  not  tell,  but 
he  turned  back  quickly  with  a  smothered  oath,  for  on 
the  distant  piazza,  he  could  distinguish  Paul  and  his 
guests  watching  the  arrival ! 

"I'm  blessed  if  it  aint  plum  empty!"  and  Jerry, 
hurried  on  by  the  crowd  that  hustled  and  pressed  the 
more  eagerly  after  this  exclamation,  found  himself 
pushed  into  the  first  car,  that  but  for  one  or  two  men, 
well-known  inhabitants  of  Durden's,  was  empty  ! 

For  a  moment  the  crowd  paused,  too  surprised  to 
ask  any  questions  ;  then  pushed  on  toward  the  next 
car,  only  to  find  it  locked  and  a  guard  at  the  door. 

"  The  provision  car,  sir,"  he  said,  touching  his  hat 
respectfully  to  Mr.  Henshaw,  who,  like  Jerry,  had 
been  hurried  along  by  the  eagerness  of  the  crowd, "  to 
go  back  to  the  other  town,  sir,"  the  guard  went  on, 
"  Mr.  Henley  has  a  lunch-room  there,  sir,  for  the 
gentlemen." 

Mr.  Henshaw  looked  at  Jerry  in  mute  wonder,  and 
the  people  crowded  nearer  to  hear. 

"  It  must  be  a  mistake,"  Jerry  said  quickly  ;  "  Mr. 


4°8  JERR  Y. 

Henley  does  not  know  that  preparations  have  been 
made  in  this  town  to  entertain  all  the  guests." 

"  I  have  it  in  writing,  sir,"  now  addressing  Jerry, 
and  handing  him  a  card,  "  as  soon  as  the  back  cars 
are  emptied  the  train  is  to  push  back  to  Eureka,  and 
unload  the  provision  car  there,  sir,"  again  touching  his 
hat ;  "  this  is  Mr.  Henley's  card,  sir,  and  Mr.  Redwood 
wrote  the  orders  on  it." 

Burden's  stood  open-mouthed,  and  Jerry  felt  as  if 
he  were  in  a  dream  ! 

"  This  provision  car  belongs  to  Mr.  Henley's  guests, 
then  ?  "  he  asked  as  calmly  as  possible. 

"  No,  sir,  to  the  directors,  all  the  directors,  sir  ; 
they  are  to  have  rooms  in  Eureka,  and  their  meals  to 
be  provided  for  them  at  an  eating-room  of  Mr.  Hen- 
ley's, sir." 

"  And  these  other  people  whom  you  have  brought 
here,"  Jerry  went  on,  striving  to  steady  his  voice  that 
was  shaken  sorely  with  anger,  "  who  are  they  ? " 

The  guard  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Paying  passengers,"  he  answered,  almost  con- 
temptuously, "  people  who  wanted  a  cheap  trip." 

Jerry  turned  away  ;  he  had  been  foolish  to  push 
this  explanation  that  was  now  almost  irretrievable, 
and  he  could  only  hope  that  the  people  had  not  under- 
stood it. 

He  could  not  afford  to  stop  and  think  now,  and  he 
pushed  his  way  hastily  through  the  questioning  crowd  to 
the  last  cars,  that  were  disgorging  rapidly  a  motley, 
tawdry  crowd  of  men,  women,  and  children  ;  flashy, 
loud-talking  creatures  that  even  to  Jerry's  untutored 
eyes  seemed  far  below  the  inhabitants  of  Burden's. 
Involuntarily  he  recoiled  for  a  moment,  and  asked 
sharply  for  Ban  Burk  and  Bave  Morris  ;  they  should 
be  there  to  help  him  ;  but  they  could  not  be  found, 
and  one  of  the  men  who  had  gone  to  meet  the  train 
explained  that  Mr.  Henley  had  asked  them  to  stay 
and  see  after  the  strangers  who  had  stopped  in  Eu- 
reka. 


JERR  Y.  409 

There  was  a  vow  of  vengeance  uttered  under  Jerry's 
breath,  then  he  turned  manfully  to  his  task.  He  had 
expected  people  like  these  to  stop  in  Eureka,  and  be 
fed  from  the  lunch-room  ;  and  only  that  morning  had 
been  anxious  lest  this  class  should  prove  more  attract- 
ive to  the  Durden's  people,  and  so  entice  them  away 
to  the  aiding  and  abetting  of  this  new  scheme  of  Paul's. 
Now  things  were  completely  reversed,  and  all  his  plans 
with  them. 

Hurriedly  these  thoughts  streamed  through  his 
heated  brain,  as  calling  up  man  after  man  of  those 
who  had  promised  to  provide  for  the  visitors,  he  par- 
celled off  to  each  his  guests.  Rapidly  the  crowd 
dwindled,  and  the  spirits  of  the  Durdenites  seemed 
to  rise  as  they  led  away  the  strangers  to  be  fed  and 
warmed  ;  and  Jerry,  watching  and  listening,  had  a 
faint  hope  that  Durden's  would  be  satisfied,  and  not 
fully  realize  the  slight  put  upon  her. 

Very  weary  he  was  when  he  reached  Mrs.  Milton's 
with  the  three  men  she  had  agreed  to  receive  ;  very 
weary,  and  possessed  by  an  undying  hatred  and  anger. 
An  honorable  death  by  shooting  was  far  too  good  for 
Paul  :  he  would  ruin  him  first  ;  would  cause  him  to 
waste  his  substance — then  he  would  stand  and  watch 
his  life  fade  into  a  colorless  failure  ! 

If  only  he  could  compass  this. 

It  was  one  o'clock,  late  for  dinner  in  Durden's,  and 
Mrs.  Milton  was  more  brusque  in  her  ways  than  usual, 
in  order  to  show  that  she  was  perfectly  at  her  ease 
with  these  "  pulin'  town  folks." 

"  An*  har's  some  writin'  as  come  fur  youuns,  Jerry 
Wilkerson," — she  said,  putting  down  by  his  plate  a 
carelessly  folded  note,  "  Jim  Short  he  brung  it  from 
Paul  Henley's  house  ";  then  with  a  chuckle  that  was 
more  angry  than  amused,  "  Jim  he  'Hows  thet  Paul 
Henley's  done  crawled  youuns  log  to-day,"  she  said. 

Jerry's  eyes  flashed,  and  the  color  surged  up  into 
his  face;  but  it  would  not  do  to  contest  Mrs.  Milton's 
words,  especially  before  these  strangers ;  and  an 


410  JERRY. 

effort  at  explanation  would  be  ruination.  Paul  had 
over-reached  him,  and  the  more  clear  he  made  it  to 
the  people,  the  higher  would  be  their  respect  for 
Paul,  and  the  more  faith  they  would  have  in  him. 
He  knew  full  well  that  the  first  claim  he  had  on  their 
regard  was  the  fact  that  he  had  outwitted  both  the 
doctor  and  Paul,  and  now  his  safety  lay  in  not  acknowl- 
edging himself  as  worsted  ;  so  he  answered  with  a 
laugh  : 

"  My  log  is  a  slippery  log,  Mrs.  Milton." 

"  Thet's  so  !  "  came  heartily  from  the  old  woman, 
"  an'  I  tole  Jim  Short  thet  Paul  Henley'd  better 
scratch  mighty  easy  roun'  you,  'cause  thar  worn't 
no  sicher  thing  as  raisin'  dust  ernough  to  make  you 
shoot  crooked  :  but  keep  the  wittles  a-stirrin',  boys," 
she  went  on,  more  hospitably  than  she  had  done  before, 
"  I  guess  you  all  is  rale  honggry." 

Then  Jerry  opened  his  note  :  a  little  scrap  of  paper 
from  Mr.  Redwood,  who  stood  in  Mr.  Greg's  place  as 
chief  officer  of  the  expedition,  telling  Jerry  that  there 
would  be  a  supper  that  night  at  the  lunch-room  in 
Eureka,  to  which  he  was  most  cordially  invited;  and 
that  the  next  day  the  "  Directors  "  would  take  great 
pleasure  in  going  over  the  mines  and  the  towns. 

They  had  reversed  the  order  of  things,  and  intended 
entertaining  him  ! 

And  he  realized  to  the  fullest  extent  that  he  stood 
in  a  most  difficult  and  dangerous  position. 

"  Did  Jim  say  there  was  any  answer  to  this,  Mrs. 
Milton? "  he  asked. 

"  Nary,"  emphatically.  "  Jim's  a  plum  fool  any 
how." 

So  Jerry  returned  to  his  dinner,  and  to  the  enter- 
taining of  these  three  nondescript  guests  who  had 
fallen  to  Mrs.  Milton's  share,  while  his  mind  followed 
an  undercurrent  of  reasoning. 

If  he  went  to  this  supper  from  which  the  people 
were  shut  out,  what  would  the  people  say  ?  if  he  re- 
fused to  go,  what  could  not  Paul  say  ?  Either  way  he 


JERRY.  411 

was  sure  to  be  misjudged,  for  Paul  would  be  ready  to 
give  either  side  reasons  and  motives  unfavorable  to 
him.  He  thought  diligently  while  he  talked  to  the 
men  and  to  Mrs.  Milton,  who  in  her  various  journeys 
from  the  fireplace  to  the  table  made  many  telling 
remarks  on  the  place  and  people ;  but  she  was  stanch 
to  Burden's,  and  told  the  most  entrancing  stories  of 
the  fortunes  that  had  been  made,  and  that  could  be 
made  still. 

"  Sakes-alive,  when  'Lije  Milton  come  har,  I'll  be 
drat  if  he  hed  a  livin'  thing  ceppen  the  cloze  on  his 
hisn's  back  ;  an'  when  'Lije  Milton  were  buried  he 
owned  the  whole  thing,  he  did,"  putting  down  some 
biscuits  that  were  golden-green  with  soda. 

The  men  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  at  Jerry 
incredulously,  so  that  Jerry  added  : 

"  Yes,  and  the  town  bought  the  mine  from  Mrs. 
Milton,"  and  the  men  rose  from  the  table  much  .im- 
pressed, and  Mrs.  Milton  swore  a  secret  oath  that  she 
would  stand  by  Jerry  as  long  as  she  could  "  worry  out 
one  breath." 

One  strong  adherent,  and  Jerry  would  need  many. 
Still  undecided  as  to  the  supper,  he  took  the  men  out 
after  dinner  to  where  he  had  agreed  to  meet  several 
householders,  who  would  assist  him  in  showing  the 
guests  the  wonders  of  the  mine,  and  the  advantages 
of  the  town.  They  met  many  groups  on  the  road 
who  joined  them,  until  quite  a  crowd  took  their  way 
to  the  meeting-place.  But  there  he  found  neither 
Dan  Burk  nor  Dave  Morris,  nor  was  Mr.  Henshaw 
anywhere  to  be  seen.  Added  to  this  it  was  cold,  and 
had  clouded  up  as  if  for  another  snow-fall  ;  and 
Jerry's  own  spirit  being  at  a  low  ebb,  there  was  not 
much  enthusiasm  to  spare. 

But  Jerry  did  not  falter  ;  he  could  not  falter ;  he  had 
been  obliged  to  change  the  base  of  his  operations 
entirely,  and  from  intending  to  push  and  advance  the 
interests  of  Durclen's,  he  had  to  retreat  to  the  position 
of  saving  himself  and  his  venture. 


4I2  JERRY. 

So  quietly,  so  cleverly  the  thing  had  been  done,  that 
he  had  scarcely  had  time  to  realize  it ;  and  the  only 
hope  left  him  was  to  impress  everybody  with  his  past 
successes,  and  the  future  of  the  place. 

Instead  of  taking  the  grandees  about,  and  strength- 
ening his  position  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  by  the 
way  in  which  these  great  men  listened  to  him  ;  and 
instead  of  securing  himself  in  the  estimation  of  the 
stockholders  by  the  sight  of  his  power  in  the  town,  he 
was  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  keeping  this  motley 
mob  in  order,  and  also  in  a  good  humor,  that  the 
Burden's  people  might  be  deceived  into  esteeming 
these  creatures  as  guests  who  were  worth  pleasing, 
and  to  think  of  themselves  as  gaining  importance  by 
entertaining  them. 

This  was  necessary  for  to-day,  and  to-morrow  he 
would  take  the  real  guests  about,  and  have  all  Dur- 
den^  out  to  escort  them  ;  if  only  he  could  tide  over 
this  one  bewildering  day  he  hoped  that  the  occasion 
might  yet  be  retrieved. 

And  after  ? 

He  put  his  hand  back  on  his  pistol  for  comfort,  as 
he  led  the  way  over  the  carefully  prepared  pathway 
that  he  had  intended  should  be  trod  first  by  the  great 
directors  !  Alas  !  the  rabble  tramped  over  it  care- 
lessly and  unappreciatingly,  and  Jerry  thought  with 
much  impatience  how  impossible  it  would  be  for  him 
to  repair  it  before  the  next  day  !  The  whole  thing 
seemed  like  a  nightmare  that  he  could  not  shake  off  ; 
why  could  not  he  rise  and  denounce  the  whole  trans- 
action ;  why  could  not  he  explain  the  whole  affair, 
and  demonstrate  the  great  mistake  that  had  been 
made  ;  explain  to  whom  ?  Only  to  himself  could  the 
explanation  be  made,  and  the  mistake  be  demonstrated. 
Mr.  Henshaw  had  acquiesced  in  the  whole  arrange- 
ment, though  somewhat  surprised,  and  had  been  seen 
to  go  from  the  car-shed  to  Paul  Henley's,  where 
doubtlessly  he  took  his  lunch.  Dan  Burk  and  Dave 
Morris  had  never  returned  from  Eureka ;  Greg's 


JERRY.  413 

mother  and  sister  were  Paul  Henley's  guests  :  so  who 
was  there  to  listen  to  his  explanation,  or  to  agree  that 
he  had  been  badly  treated,  when  he  was  the  only  dis- 
satisfied person  ?  All  he  could  do  was  to  cover  as 
well  as  possible  his  defeat,  and  bide  his  time. 

At  last  his  task  was  finished  :  the  mine  had  been 
explained  and  explored,  the  town  talked  about  glow- 
ingly ;  then,  a  light  snow  beginning  to  fall,  the  people 
hurried  off  in  groups,  and  Mrs.  Milton's  three  guests 
having  gone  to  Eureka  to  look  at  that  mine,  Jerry  felt 
at  last  that  he  was  free  to  examine  his  position  arid 
arrange  his  plans. 

Stock-still  in  front  of  his  fire,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  dancing  flames  : 
feeling  too  much  to  rest  or  to  think  connectedly  ;  only 
realizing  a  hatred  for  Paul,  and  a  desire  for  revenge 
that  seemed  almost  to  consume  him  :  while  a  cold 
resentment  against  all  humanity  took  possession  of 
him. 

Over  this  foundation  of  feeling  a  confused  cloud  of 
ideas  floated  :  how  had  Greg  explained  his  absence 
to  Mrs.  Greg  and  Isabel  ?  in  what  light  had  Paul 
represented  him  to  these  people  ?  how  would  he  be 
received  that  night,  and  should  he  go  ? 

Over  and  over  again  these  thoughts  drifted  through 
his  mind  ;  over  and  over  again  he  decided  in  one 
way,  only  to  change  to  the  opposite  extreme. 

Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  realize  his  position  ; 
he  could  not  control  the  feeling  that  the  whole  fabric 
was  melting  before  his  eyes  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
sprung  up  :  there  was  magic  in  the  whole  thing, — 
magic  that  would  destroy  him  !  He  was  doomed — he 
had  taken  the  wrong  turn  that  lies  in  every  path — the 
one  wrong  turn  which  there  is  no  recovering,  and 
now  he  seemed  to  be  traveling  fast  away  from  all 
success. 

Whichever  course  he  took  now  could  be  miscon- 
strued, and  would  be  misconstrued  :  but  he  must 
decide  on  something,  and  take  a  firm  hold  somewhere  ; 


4r4  JERRY. 

to  drift  would  be  inevitable  ruin.  He  might  make  a 
mistake  in  his  action, — still  it  would  be  action  ;  and  he 
must  act  if  action  meant  financial  suicide.  He  must 
play  Paul's  game,  and  stop  at  nothing  ;  let  no  tool 
nor  thing  be  too  low  for  use  ;  and  if  he  found  that  he 
could  not  hurt  Paul  in  any  more  lasting  way,  he  would 
kill  him.  And  he  laughed  bitterly  at  the  thought  that 
death  would  not  last  as  a  punishment  for  Paul  Henley  ! 
If  there  were  any  judgment  or  punishment  hereafter, 
death  should  take  Paul  Henley  to  both  :  the  doctor's 
love  should  shield  him  no  longer. 

Then  the  door  opened  and  Greg  came  in. 

"  Not  ready  yet  ? "  he  began  with  a  gayety  that  had 
something  of  nervousness  in  it ;  "  the  supper  will  be 
early  so  that  we  can  sit  long,"  he  went  on,  rubbing 
his  hands  and  holding  them  to  the  fire,  "and  of  course 
you  are  coming." 

"  Yes,"  Jerry  answered  quietly,  rising  and  standing 
in  front  of  the  fire,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  "  but 
I  will  not  change  my  clothes.  How  is  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  and  wishes  to  see  you  very 
much  ;  so  does  Isabel,  and  Miss  Henley  asked  after 
you  most  especially." 

"  They  are  very  kind  ;  I  hope  I  shall  see  them  to- 
morrow. Are  you  ready  to  go  to  Eureka  now  ?  " 

The  color  flashed  hotly  into  Greg's  face. 

"  Not  immediately,"  he  answered  hesitatingly  :  "  I 
told  my  mother  I  should  stop  there  a  moment  on  my 
way  over." 

"And  will  go  over  in  Henley's  wagon,"  Jerry  added 
in  a  matter-of-course  way  ;  then  looking  at  his  pistols 
carefully  before  putting  them  in  his  belt,  he  asked, 
"  How  are  your  visitors  impressed  with  Burden's  ? " 

"  They  seem  to  be  immensely  surprised,"  Greg 
answered,  "  especially  at  the  government  of  the  town  ; 
it  seems  that  they  did  not  believe  what  the  papers 
said  about  us." 

"  I  suppose  it  seems  rather  foolish  to  them,"  Jerry 
said  ;  "rather  whimsical." 


JERRY.  415 

"  Well,  yes,"  doubtfully,  "  rather  impracticable  for 
a  speculation,  they  say  ;  but  I  think  they  scarcely 
understand  it  yet." 

"  And  would  not,  probably,  after  a  week's  talk," 
laughing.  "  To  a  capitalist  and  a  speculator  the  scheme 
does  not  look  so  captivating  as  it  doesJio  the  class  I 
have  been  entertaining  to-day  :  people  looking  down, 
and  people  looking  up  can  not  of  course  get  the  same 
view  of  a  thing ;  and  when  I  began,  I  was  one  of 
those  who  looked  up." 

"  But  now  you  look  down,  so  can  agree  with  the 
capitalists,"  Greg  suggested. 

"  Do  they  propose  to  try  any  changes  ? "  and  in- 
voluntarily Jerry's  voice  sharpened. 

"  No,  no  ;  they  can  not,  you  know  ;  but  I  believe 
they  have  some  suggestions  to  offer." 

"  To-night  ?  "  tersely. 

"  No,  to-morrow  ;  they  intend  to  enjoy  themselves 
to-night,  and  talk  and  explore  to-morrow  ;  there  is  to 
be  a  public  meeting  in  Eureka,  and  speeches." 

"  In  Eureka?"  Jerry  asked  quietly,  although  for  a 
moment  the  ground  seemed  to  slip  from  under  his 
feet. 

"Yes,  the  railway  men,  you  know  ;  they  bought  all 
the  land  at  the  doctor's  suggestion,  you  remember  ; 
and  now  they  are  very  anxious  that  the  land  values 
should  rise,  and  think  this  is  a  good  opportunity  to 
capture  settlers." 

"And  it  is,"  Jerry  answered,  looking  down  into  the 
fire,  while  there  seemed  a  singing  in  his  ears. 

"  And  to-morrow  Henshaw  goes  with  Mills  to  in- 
spect the  Eureka  Mine:  of  course  the  growth  of  one 
town  will  react  on  the  other,"  he  went  on  as  if  to  com- 
fort Jerry,  "  a  sort  of  double-barreled  affair  that  will 
help  all." 

"And  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  speak,"  Jerry  said. 

"  Of  course,"  quickly,  "  I  shall  call  on  you  myself." 

Jerry  laughed. 

"  Scarcely,"  he  said  ;  "  I  do  not  think  that  would 


4i  6  JERRY. 

quite  do,"  then  drawing  a  heavy  pea-jacket  over  his 
flannel  shirt,  and  taking  up  his  hat,  he  turned  to  the 
door;  "  of  course  I  shall  be  called  on  to  render  an  ac- 
count, and  I  shall  do  it:  but  now  we  must  go,"  and  he 
led  the  way  from  the  room. 

At  the  foot  o_f  the  steep,  blind  descent  of  the  stair- 
way, Mrs.  Milton  opened  a  door  and  let  a  stream  of 
light  out  on  them. 

"  I  wants  to  set  eyes  on  you,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  she 
said,  "  'cause  you  looks  rale  jimpsey  in  sto'  cloze,  you 
do  ;  come  in,  come  in." 

Jerry  laughed. 

"  I  did  not  put  on  my  store  clothes,  Mrs.  Milton,"  he 
said  ;  "  I  prefer  to  look  like  a  Burden's  man,"  stepping 
into  the  light. 

"  Great-day-in-the-mornin'  !  "  Then  Mrs.  Milton 
stood  in  silent  disappointment. 

"  You  are  the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world,  Mrs. 
Milton,"  and  Jerry's  eyes  seemed  to  glow  as  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  old  woman's  shoulder,  "  and  what  is 
good  enough  for  you,  is  good  enough  for  any  one." 

"  An'  nothin'  but  youuns'  ole  blue  shirt  an'  jeans 
breeches — Golly  !  " 

"A  brand-new  shirt,"  Jerry  answered,  "and  of  the 
very  best  flannel,  and  my  pistols  are  cleaned  and  my 
boots  freshly  greased  to  keep  the  wet  out;  what  more 
should  a  man  want  ?  " 

Mrs.  Milton  turned  away. 

"  You  is  a  good  figger  of  a  man,  Jerry  Wilkerson, 
whatever  youuns'  cloze  is,"  she  said  slowly,  "an'allers 
looks  rale  nice ;  but  them  thar  sto'  cloze  does  look 
pisen  fine,  you  bet :  an'  Mr.  Greg,"  scanning  him  over 
the  top  of  her  glasses,  "  looks  a  rale  buster,  he  do," 
and  without  more  words  she  ushered  them  out  of  the 
door,  closing  it  after  them. 

"  She  is  an  extraordinary  character,"  Greg  said 
laughing. 

"  The  most  extraordinary  I  ever  met,"  Jerry  as- 
sented, "  she  is  perfectly  true  and  honest." 


JERRY.  417 

"  Whew-w-w  !  "  Greg  whistled.  "  You  are  hard  on 
humanity." 

"  Only  another  case  of  people  looking  from  differ- 
ent standpoints,"  Jerry  answered. 

Then  they  plodded  on  in  silence  for  a  time. 

"  It  will  be  deucedly  cold  by  morning,"  Greg  said, 
at  length,  almost  repenting  the  friendliness  that  had 
caused  him  to  come  and  warn  Jerry  of  the  plans  on 
foot,  so  that  he  would  be  somewhat  prepared.  Jerry 
had  not  seemed  surprised,  nor  in  the  least  thankful  to 
him  for  the  trouble  he  had  taken,  nor  did  he  seem 
much  upset  by  the  day's  doings;  indeed,  Greg  felt  de- 
frauded of  the  sympathy  that  he  had  been  spending 
on  Jerry  all  day. 

"  And  the  snow  is  increasing  every  moment,"  Jerry 
answered  ;  "  if  the  worst  comes,  we  shall  have  to  illu- 
minate one  of  the  mines  and  have  the  meeting  there; 
it  will  be  warm,  and  have  plenty  of  echo,  so  that  their 
words  can  come  back  again  and  again,  and  so  impress 
themselves  on  our  minds";  then  suddenly,  "Why  did 
not  your  father  come  ? " 

"  My  father  ?  "  Greg  repeated  in  some  surprise;  "he 
could  not  leave  his  business." 

"And  Mr.  Glendale  ?"  mentioning  the  name  of  his 
own  broker,  who  was  also  a  director  of  the  railway, 
"he  could  not  leave  his  business  either?" 

"  I  suppose  not,  though  I  have  not  asked  ;  "  then 
Greg  turned  down  the  road  to  Paul  Henley's,  and 
Jerry  went  on  to  Eureka. 

It  had  not  occurred  to  Jerry  before  that  the  ab- 
sence of  these  two  men  might  mean  something  more 
than  accident;  but  now,  although  he  did  not  know  that 
Glendale  was  Henley's  adviser  also,  the  fact  of  both 
staying  away  seemed  ominous.  They  were  the  only 
directors  who  were  in  any  way  bound  to  him,  and 
knowing  that  there  were  possible  disagreements  ahead, 
they  felt  that  in  Burden's  they  would  have  to  take 
sides,  while  in  New  York  they  could  remain  neutral. 
It  was  a  hard  conclusion  to  come  to,  and  it  was  harder 


41 8  JERRY. 

still  to  bear,  but  fortunately  for  Jerry  it  brought  its 
own  strength  in  the  shape  of  anger;  a  strength  that 
upheld  him  as  no  rest  nor  sympathy  could  have  done. 

So  they  were  to  have  a  public  meeting  in  Eureka; 
and  the  thing  he  had  looked  on  as  his  greatest  tri- 
umph, the  compelling  the  company  to  buy  the  lots  in 
Eureka  in  order  to  save  what  they  had  invested  there 
already,  this  act  that  had  been  more  than  anything 
else  the  badge  of  his  success,  this  had  turned  out  to 
be  the  salvation  of  the  rival  town. 

At  the  time  of  the  transaction  he  had  realized  that 
this  would  be  the  case,  but  not  so  soon  as  this.  It 
was  a  cruel  misfortune  that  it  should  come  now,  and 
through  the  machinations  of  Paul  Henley.  And  yet, 
was  it  any  more  than  he  had  done  to  Eureka  ?  He 
walked  a  little  faster. 

He  had  been  working  for  the  public  good  when  he 
did  that;  his  motive  had  been  the  raising  and  better- 
ing of  a  whole  class  ! 

He  laughed  a  little  as  he  thought  this,  a  scornful, 
ill-sounding  laugh:  what  a  complete  fool  he  had  been  ! 
The  only  difference  between  him  and  Paul  Henley 
was  that  Paul  had  had  sense  enough  to  have  but  one 
end  in  view — the  destruction  of  an  enemy;  while  he, 
though  thirsting  for  this  same  thing,  had  covered  it 
over  with  a  philanthropic  cloak.  He  had  not  realized 
his  hypocrisy  at  the  time,  perhaps,  but  this  proved 
him  only  the  greater  fool.  And  now  Paul  was  reap- 
ing the  benefit  of  his  unscrupulous  honesty  in  working 
openly  and  unblushingly  for  a  low  end.  The  people 
could  understand  him  and  his  scheme,  and  were  forced 
into  belief  in  him  by  the  unveiled  selfishness  of  his 
motives.  All  along  he  had  known  that  Paul  laughed 
at  his  venture,  and  the  laws  of  the  town  that  held  these 
men  to  a  decent  way  of  living,  and  took  care  of  them 
and  their  money  by  force. 

And  well  might  Paul  laugh:  laugh  at  a  man  who, 
with  the  experience  of  generations  before  him  to  show 
and  prove  the  folly  of  forcing  people  into  a  right  and 


JERRY.  419 

just  way  of  doing  things,  still  made  the  experiment. 
Old  Joe,  even,  had  seen  his  folly.  The  Almighty 
Himself  had  left  humanity  free  for  good  or  ill ! 

The  world  would  grumble  at  its  condition  always — 
always  it  would  cry  frantically  for  honesty  and  reform; 
but  it  had  only  laughter  for  the  honest  man — and  woe 
for  the  reformer.  All  that  the  world  wanted  was 
money,  and  only  the  poor  found  the  times  evil :  it 
was  only  the  poor  who  could  not  hold  their  place  in 
the  battle  of  life  ;  and  no  man  could  help  them ; 
weakness  must  fall. 

And  yet  Almighty  Strength  gave  itself  to  death  for 
the  weak.  He  looked  up  to  the  sullen  sky — if  only 
he  had  been  strong  enough  for  that  kind  of  success. 

And  the  doctor  ?  Jerry  paused  a  moment  in  his 
going  ;  had  the  doctor  believed  in  that  grand  atone- 
ment of  love, — the  doctor  whose  whole  life  had  been 
spent  in  trying  to  strike  a  balance  of  good  works 
against  his  sins  ? 

If  only  this  man  had  given  him  a  little  love,  how 
his  life  had  been  glorified  ! 

Even  now  it  was  not  too  late  for  him  to  make  a 
grand  sacrifice  ? 

He  walked  on  slowly:  suddenly  he  turned  into  the 
one  muddy  street  of  Eureka,  and  stopped  to  take  in 
the  novelty  of  its  appearance. 

In  front  of  every  house  up  and  down  the  road  were 
hung  lanterns,  making  quite  an  illumination,  and  in 
front  of  Dave  Morris's  old  shop  there  was  a  long  row 
of  them  ;  and  boards  laid  down  before  the  door  ; 
and  an  awning  stretched  overhead  ! 

Jerry  walked  down  to  the  shop,  and  found  that 
inside  things  were  as  different  as  possible  from  the 
time  when,  in  his  youthful  scorn  and  folly,  he  had 
knocked  down  Dave  Morris.  It  had  not  been  a  year 
yet,  since  he  struck  that  first  blow  of  his  career. 

Dan  Burk  and  Dave  Morris  were  both  in  the  shop, 
and  Mrs.  Burk,  in  all  the  finery  she  could  buy  or  bor- 
row in  both  towns,  was  sailing  importantly,  but  con- 


420  JERRY. 

descendingly,  about  a  table  spread  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room.  There  were  one  or  two  women,  faint  copies 
of  Mrs.  Burk,  who  followed  her  obediently:  and,  in 
blase  and  amused  silence,  the  cook  brought  from  New 
York  was  carving  at  a  side-table  ;  while  a  group  of 
well-dressed  imported  waiters  stood  laughing  near  the 
stove. 

And  Jerry,  in  his  rough  dress,  walked  in  unheeded 
by  them.  Dave  Morris  and  Dan  Burk  were  charged 
with  the  admitting  of  people,  and  now  they  hurried 
forward. 

"  Good-evenin',  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  looking  anxiously 
in  his  cold  face,  for  as  yet  they  had  not  won  their  way 
with  the  new  party  sufficiently  to  be  regardless  of  the 
censure  of  the  old;  "a  paper,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  and  a 
chair  ? "  and  Jerry,  accepting  both  things,  sat  down 
near  a  lamp. 

The  imported  servants  looked  at  him  curiously  ; 
but  he  had  given  Dan  Burk  his  coat  and  his  hat  with 
the  air  of  a  master,  and  wisely  surmising  that  he  was 
not  made  by  his  clothes,  their  mirth  subsided  into 
respectful  silence. 

Jerry  opened  the  paper  that  already  was  rather 
soiled,  and  behind  its  protecting  pages  watched,  and 
listened,  and  drew  his  conclusions. 

Paul  had  worked  well;  for  as  the  conversation  of 
the  waiters  and  the  women  drifted  to  him,  and  as  he 
listened  to  the  talk  of  a  group  of  natives  eating  at  the 
lunch  counter  near  the  door,  and  caught  the  remarks 
from  Burk  and  Morris,  he  could  hear  "  Mr.  Henley  " 
referred  to  as  an  authority  for  everything:  a  stranger 
would  have  thought  Paul  the  great  man  of  the  towns; 
and  the  anger  and  revenge  that  out  in  the  darkness 
he  had  subdued  a  little,  seemed  to  take  fresh  hold  on 
him,  and  to  grow  more  quiet  and  more  determined 
within  him:  it  seemed  now  to  reveal  itself  as  the  sub- 
stratum of  his  whole  being,  over  which  ail  lighter 
emotions  passed  like  the  shadows  of  the  clouds  over 
the  plain  ! 


JERRY.  421 

It  would  never  leave  him,  this  hatred, — it  should  lie 
still  for  a  while  yet,  but  it  should  grow  and  strengthen 
by  day  and  by  night  until  the  right  time  should  come. 
His  thoughts  and  emotions  as  he  walked  over  had 
been  only  another  phase  of  his  lunacy. 

There  was  a  sound  of  wheels  and  of  laughter  out- 
side, then  an  influx  of  men  in  every  shape  and  size  of 
overcoat  and  wrap  that  could  be  thought  of,  and  out 
of  the  crowd  Greg  approached  Jerry. 

"  Here  you  are,"  he  said  heartily,  "safe  out  of  this 
beastly  weather;"  then  to  the  party,  who  were  most  of 
them  out  of  their  wrappings  by  this  time — "Here  is 
Mr.  Wilkerson,  Mr.  Redwood;  of  course  you  know 
him,  Granger,  and  you,  Van  Dusen,"  and  Jerry's  hand 
was  shaken  by  one  man  after  another,  and  he  was 
looked  at  from  head  to  foot  in  a  well-bred  way.  This 
the  Wilkerson,  the  exceedingly  gentlemanly  young 
man  they  remembered  in  New  York  ?  What  possessed 
him  to  clothe  himself  in  this  way  ? 

Then  Paul  came  forward,  and  a  bow  and  a  few 
words  of  greeting  passed  between  them:  Jerry's  hatred 
must  keep:  and  Paul's  role  was  to  make  these  people 
believe  Jerry  to  be  a  rash,  hot-headed  philanthropist ; 
and  he  the  much-enduring  friend  whose  advice  and 
warnings  had  been  scoffed  at  and  disregarded:  so 
their  greeting  was  strictly  unremarkable. 

It  seemed  like  a  dream,  to  Jerry;  a  bad  dream  from 
which  he  could  not  waken:  all  the  talk  seemed  to  be 
against  him,  yet  in  a  covert  fashion  that  he  could  not 
take  hold  of:  he  talked  busily  enough  himself,  and 
was  the  recipient  of  many  toasts  and  many  fine 
speeches,  so  that  the  people  and  the  waiters  standing 
about  looked  on  him  with  very  different  eyes  from 
what  they  had  done  when  the  semi-royal  feast  eaten 
in  public  began.  Yet  under  all  he  detected  with 
unerring  instinct  an  effort  to  keep  him  in  a  good 
humor:  he  was  an  amiable  visionary  who  had  no  harm 
in  him,  and  who  had  succeeded  after  a  manner,  but 
whose  success  could  not  last. 


422  JERRY. 

But  Jerry  made  no  sign  :  he  would  "  bide  his 
time  " — wait  until  the  moment  came  when  his  blow 
would  crush  some  thing  or  person — then  he  would 
strike — strike  if  the  same  blow  destroyed  himself. 

He  had  ruined  Eureka  once, — why  not  again  ?  He 
had  brought  these  men  to  terms  once,  why  not  again  ? 
No  reason  that  he  could  see,  save  one,  that  sickened 
him  with  dread  of  failure  ;  in  his  first  struggle  he  had 
had  a  noble  foe  to  deal  with  ;  now, — and  his  blood  tin- 
gled as  he  remembered  who  opposed  him  now  ! 

And  while  he  talked  and  listened  he  found  himself 
revolving  in  an  idle  fashion  the  question  whether  it 
would  be  wiser  to  fight  Paul  with  Paul's  own  weapons — 
"  fight  the  devil  with  fire  ";  but  surely  this  would  give 
the  devil  the  advantage  to  fight  him  with  his  own 
weapons  ;  and  yet  to  fight  a  lie  .with  truth  seemed  a 
losing  thing.  If  he  had  but  stood  to  the  first  princi- 
ples he  had  laid  down  for  his  life,  how  idle  this  pres- 
ent strife  would  have  seemed  to  him  !  How  pityingly 
he  would  have  looked  down  on  the  fray,  and  the  poor 
squabblers  wasting  lives  and  souls  on  the  idle  dross  of 
gain  !  What  difference  if  one  or  the  other  won  ? — a 
little  while  and  their  graves  would  lie  rain-washed 
and  forgotten  out  there  on  the  hill-side. 

"  Eureka  is  bound  to  succeed  !  "  and  Paul  put  his 
glass  down  with  a  clash. 

"Of  course,"  Mr.  Redwood  answered,  tucking  his 
napkin  more  carefully  under  his  chin,  "  too  many  cap- 
italists own  land  here  for  it  to  fail  ;  we  have  only  been 
waiting  on  the  railway,  knowing  there  was  no  need 
for  any  haste." 

Jerry  rallied  his  thoughts  as  Greg  answered 
quickly — 

"  And  Burden's  is  a  success." 

"  Except  that  damned  stream,"  Van  Dusen  an- 
swered, "  it  makes  everything  so  confoundedly  un- 
safe." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Henshaw  ?  "  and  Paul  held 
his  glass  up  to  the  light. 


JERRY.  423 

Mr.  Henshaw  cleared  his  throat,  and  glanced  at 
Jerry.  "  The  dam  is  safe  now,"  he  said. 

"  And  has  been  for  more  than  twenty-five  years," 
Jerry  added. 

"  But  the  twenty-sixth  might  smash  it,"  and  Gran- 
ger shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  I  am  willing  to  risk  it,"  Greg  struck  in  sharply, 
seeing  some  of  the  natives  drawing  near  and  listen- 
ing intently. 

Paul  laughed  lightly. 

"  So  you  may  be,  Greg,"  he  said,  "  for  you  have  no 
one  dependent  on  you  ;  neither  has  Wilkerson  ;  be- 
sides," looking  Jerry  straight  in  the  face,  then  beyond 
him  to  the  natives  who  were  listening,  "  besides  Wil- 
kerson has  enough  to  carry  him  over  any  failure." 

"  Of  course,"  Van  Dusen  answered,  innocent  of  the 
part  he  was  playing,  "  every  man  on  Wall  Street  knows 
that  Wilkerson  can  afford  to  play  with  dangerous  in- 
vestments, but  I  have  no  fortune,  and  I  have  a  wife 
and  four  children." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  Jerry  said  drily,  filling  his 
glass,  while  a  laugh  ran  round  the  table  ;  "  I  have  only 
been  imprudent  enough  to  invest  all  that  Mr.  Gilliam 
left  me  in  the  interest  of  his  town,  Burden's,"  return- 
ing Paul's  look,  "  and  with  Burden's  I  stand  or 
fall." 

There  was  a  little  sound  from  the  shop  as  of  ap- 
plause, while  Greg  clapped  his  hands  openly,  and  the 
color  rushed  into  Paul's  face. 

"  By  the  way,"  and  Paul  put  down  his  knife  and 
fork,  "  we  are  old  friends  enough  for  a  home  ques- 
tion,— how  much  did  old  Gilliam  leave  you  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Enough,"  Jerry  answered,  while  he  skillfully  jointed 
the  shapelessly  fat  ducks  put  down  before  him,  "  to 
run  Burden's  stock  up  above  par  in  the  market,  and 
to  keep  it  there,"  and  his  eyes  flashed  dangerously. 

"  And  where  did  he  get  it  ?  "  Paul  went  on,  feeling 
safe  in  the  crowd,  and  too  angry  to  restrain  his  venom. 

t  Jerry's  face  grew  very  white  in  the  moment's  silence 

'    * 


424  JERRY, 

that  followed  Paul's  words,  but  his  voice  was  steady 
enough  as  he  answered  slowly  : 

"  He  did  not  tell  me,  nor  any  living  man  :  the  secret 
of  Joe  Gilliam's  find  died  with  him,"  and  Jerry  paused 
in  his  carving  to  lay  his  pistols  on  the  table. 

"  He  refused  to  tell  it  even  on  his  death-bed,"  Greg 
said,  looking  angrily  in  Paul's  face,  "  for  I  was  there 
and  heard  him." 

Then  a  silence  fell  on  the  company  that  was  not 
comfortable,  until  Van  Dusen  said  with  an  uneasiness 
born  as  much  of  the  look  of  Jerry's  pistols  as  of  Jer- 
ry as  he  silently  and  ruthlessly  dissected  the  tender 
round  ducks,  as  of  the  subject  he  was  reintroducing  : 

"  But  that  dam  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  safe,"  Greg  answered  firmly  ;  then  went 
on  to  tell  the  story  of  old  Burden  who  had  first  turned 
the  stream  from  its  course  ;  a  story  well  known  to  all 
present,  as  it  had  been  most  carefully  published  in  the 
pamphlet  advertising  the  place,  but  which  now  was 
listened  to  with  undivided  interest,  while  the  com- 
pany, each  in  the  silence  of  his  own  heart,  tried  to 
decide  whether  Jerry  had  pulled  out  his  pistols  as  a 
warning  to  Paul,  or  because  they  made  his  belt  too 
tight  as  the  feast  progressed.  They  had  heard  many 
well-authenticated  stories  of  the  Western  mode  of 
dealing  with  the  slightest  impertinence,  and  they  were 
uneasy  lest  they  should  be  treated  to  a  specimen. 
Henley  had  been  confoundedly  prying,  and  Wilker- 
son  was  not  a  person  who  looked  entirely  safe  ;  and 
he  was  not  drinking  much. 

Meanwhile  they  listened  to  Greg's  old  story,  mak- 
ing vague  comments,  and  looking  steadfastly  away 
from  the  daintily  mounted  pistols  that  seemed  to  grow 
larger  as  they  lay  on  the  table-cloth.  And  when  Greg 
finished,  Mr.  Henshaw,  who  was  accustomed  to  see- 
ing every  man  in  the  town  armed  always,  and  who  did 
not  take  in  the  situation,  went  into  a  long  disquisition 
on  the  present  safety  of  the  dam,  and  the  work  that 
had  been  put  on  it  to  make  it  perfectly  secure.  Then 


JERRY.  425 

some  one  followed  with  a  story  of  some  recent  flood, 
and  the  talk  floated  away  from  all  dangerous  topics  : 
and  the  wine  flowed  freely,  and  the  stories  grew  more 
witty  and  less  decent,  and  songs  from  the  younger 
men  waked  up  the  nearest  inhabitants  ;  and  in  the 
midst  of  it  Jerry  left,  taking  his  ghastly  pistols,  judg- 
ing rightly  that  no  one  could  harm  him  now. 

And  through  the  crowd  gathered  about  the  door 
he  found  a  respectful  path  opened,  and  the  next 
day  everybody  knew  that  "  Mr.  Wilkerson  had 
struck  up  to  Burden's,  and  hadn't  drunk  but  mighty 
little." 

Steadily  on  through  the  dreary  night ;  tramping 
heedlessly  through  mud  and  slush,  breaking  with 
sharp  cracking  the  ice  formed  since  nightfall  on  the 
roadway  pools  ;  unconscious  of  the  driving  snow,  and 
the  wind  that  cut  like  a  knife  ;  regardless  of  every- 
thing save  the  one  great  hatred  ;  grasping  with  his 
fevered  hands  the  pistols  in  his  jacket  pockets  until 
the  cold  metal  grew  warm,  and  seemed  almost  to 
answer  to  his  grasp.  The  one  mad  longing  to  crush 
and  strangle  the  life  and  beauty  out  of  the  false  face 
that  had  mocked  him  that  night:  he  had  read  a  book 
once,  where  a  man  after  long  waiting  strangles  his 
enemy.  A  slow,  great  agony  of  death,  that  he  could 
watch  growing  in  his  victim's  eyes;  no  sudden,  merci- 
ful blow  nor  shot,  but  an  awful  creeping  horror  that 
would  grant  time  for  the  realization  of  illimitable  suf- 
fering— for  the  anguish  of  regret  and  'failure  to  work 
its  most  dreadful  pain.  This  man  might  undermine 
him  ;  might  in  his  crafty,  snake-like  fashion,  compass 
his  ruin  ;  might  stand  and  smile  triumphantly  over 
his  fall ;  he  would  bear  it,  he  would  wait  and  watch, 
and  when  the  hour  of  greatest  success  stood  ready  to 
this  man's  hand  he  would  murder  him. 

He  drew  a  long,  sharp  breath  ;  he  longed  to  cry 
aloud,  that  the  awful  excitement  might  find  vent. 

The  wind  came  tearing  down  the  mountains  and 
out  across  the  plain,  driving  the  snow  in  great  clouds 


426  JERRY. 

before  it,  crying  and  shrieking  as  it  went,  and  far  off 
he  heard  the  roar  of  falling  water  ! 

He  stood  still  in  the  darkness — and  in  the  lull  of 
the  storm  he  listened  :  often  in  the  night  he  heard 
this  roar.  How  easily  an  enemy  might  ruin  him  : 
one  loosened  stone — one  little  blast  of  powder  unheard 
in  the  stormy  night,  and  the  wild  water  would  rush 
like  a  mad  creature  back  to  its  old  haunts  ;  dash  in 
wild  ecstasy  down  the  black  abyss  where  old  Burden's 
bones  lay  crumbling  ;  lash  with  its  fierce  caresses 
the  stones  that  in  the  long  ago  it  had  worn  down  to 
patient  smoothness  !  would  it  know  that  it  had  got 
home  again,  this  water  that  fell  so  far,  and  cried  so 
piteously  as  it  fled  away  to  the  thirsty  plain  ;  would 
it  know  that  it  had  conquered  one  man  who  stood 
without  one  friend-to  love  in  all  his  life  ? 

He  started  on  hurriedly. 

No  friend,  no  friend  ;  but,  ah,  one  enemy  !  one  mer- 
ciless enemy  whose  dead  body  should  be  cast  down 
the  abyss  with  the  wild  white  water  as  its  only  wind- 
ing-sheet, and  find  no  rest  down  among  the  black, 
bruising  rocks  !  That  would  be  better  than  fortune 
or  fame — better  than  any  success  ! 

A  sudden  memory  came  to  him  like  a  voice  speak- 
ing in  his  ear  :  he  must  burn  that  little  scrap  of  paper  ; 
no  man  must  know  that  the  same  water  would  ruin 
both  !  It  would  be  a  sweet  revenge  to  let  Paul  ruin 
himself.  For  the  paper  said — "  What  goes  in  at  Bur- 
den's, comes  out  at  Eureka." 

And  he  laughed  aloud  in  the  darkness. 

Paul  would  laugh  as  the  water  roared  in  at  Bur- 
den's Mine — he  would  laugh  as  the  stream  flashed 
into  the  sunlight  again  from  the  mouth  of  the  Eureka 
mine  ! 

Joe  had  been  wise,  and  faithful,  and  silent. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  Let  go  thy  hold  when  a  great  wheel  runs  down  a  hill,  lest  it 
break  thy  neck  with  following  it  ;  but  the  great  one  that  goes  up 
the  hill,  let  him  draw  thee  after." 

WHEN  Burden's  opened  its  doors  and  windows 
the  next  morning,  the  world  was  white,  and 
the  snow  was  falling  with  dangerous  swiftness. 
The  excursionists  were  dismayed,  and  fears  were  soon 
floating  about  that  they  would  be  snowed  up  in  these 
wilds  ;  if  they  couid  get  so  far  as  the  first  station  from 
which  the  road  was  properly  built,  they  would  feel 
safe  ;  but  with  much  more  snow  the  loosely  built 
track  would  be  impassable. 

The  belated  directors  were  roused  by  the  conduc- 
tor of  their  train  at  an  unbearably  early  hour,  consid- 
ering it  was  the  morning  after  a  supper,  and  were 
advised  to  make  an  immediate  start. 

Soon  the  towns  were  in  confusion,  and  the  ladies, 
all  of  them  at  Paul  Henley's,  were  in  a  great  flutter  of 
excitement.  The  people  who  had  not  been  to  the 
supper  realized  the  position  immediately,  but  it  was  a 
hard  matter  to  move  the  exhausted  revelers. 

"  A  wagon  ! "  Mrs.  Greg  cried  plaintively,  "  and 
Charles,  where  is  he  !  " 

The  servants  were  at  a  loss  ;  where  was  Mr.  Greg  ? 
where  in  the  two  towns  was  he  to  be  found  when  his 
own  house  was  empty? 

"  Ask  Mr.  \Vilkerson,"  some  one  suggested,  and  Jim 
Short  ran  as  fast  as  he  could  to  Mrs.  Milton's. 

"  Mr.  Wilkerson  ?  "  he  asked  breathlessly  of  the  old 
woman,  who  was  smoking  busily,  with  her  knees  in  the 
fire  almost. 

427 


428  JERR  Y. 

"  Jerry  Wilkerson  is  done  eat  an'  gone,  Jim  Short, 
an'  you  mighter  knowed  it  if  yer  hedn't  stuffed  yer- 
seff  plum  foolish  las'  night,"  and  Mrs.  Milton  re- 
placed her  pipe  in  her  mouth,  and  turned  a  stolid 
gaze  on  the  fire. 

Jim  paused  a  moment  in  the  open  door  ;  he  must 
venture  another  question,  and  he  asked  desperately — 

"  Whar  ?  " 

"  Whar?  "  scornfully,  "  go  an*  fin'  out  ;  an'  if  you 
don't  shet  that  dore  mighty  quick,  I'll  jest  git  up  an' 
knock  thet  same  stuffin'  outer  you,"  turning  to 
look  over  her  shoulder  :  but  Jerry  stood  there  be- 
tween her  and  the  despised  Jim,  asking  what  was 
wanted. 

"  Drat  if  I  knows,"  the  old  woman  answered  sul- 
lenly, -and  Jim  taking  courage  gave  his  message  that 
the  ladies  wanted  Mr.  Greg  and  a  wagon,  and  he  had 
come  to  Mr.  Wilkerson  to  find  both. 

"  And  where  is  Mr.  Henley  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Paul's  deep  in  the  bed,  sir." 

"Very  well,"  and  Jerry  stepping  outside  closed  the 
door  after  him,  while  Mrs.  Milton  walked  to  the  win- 
dow to  watch  him  down  the  street. 

"  If  he'd  a-tole  me  hisn-seff,"  she  muttered,  "  I'd 
a-made  the  folks  stan'  roun' ;  but  to  hev  thet  Henley 
an'  Dan  Burk  a-talkin'  'bout  it,  an'  a-tellin'  it  like  it 
were  stole — it  jest  hurted  me  to  death,  it  did,"  draw- 
ing a  deep  sigh,  and  returning  to  her  place  by  the  fire, 
"  an'  I  sets  aheaper  sto'  by  Jerry  Wilkerson  ;  an'  I 
"Mowed  I'd  gie  him  all  I  hed  when  I  gits  ready  to  be 
planted  :  an'  I  will"  wiping  her  nose  with  her  apron, 
"  Jerry  Wilkerson  is  my  man  !  "  and  she  smoked 
vehemently. 

The  celebration  had  been  a  failure  ;  a  failure  that 
was  unexpected,  but  thoroughly  realized  by  all  parties. 

"  An'  Paul  Henley  spiled  it,"  Mrs.  Milton  said 
openly,  "  all  alonger  hisn  sneakin',  onderhanded 
ways  ! ." 

But  good,  or  bad,  it  was  over  now,  and  the  people 


JERRY.  429 

were  going  away  helter-skelter,  in  dreadful  fear  of 
being  snowed  up,  and  expressing  very  unflattering 
opinions  of  the  climate. 

It  was  a  melancholy  end  to  all  the  high  hopes  of 
both  the  inhabitants'  and  the  guests,  and  no  one  felt 
the  failure  so  keenly  as  Jerry.  He  worked  with  all 
his  mind  and  strength  to  get  the  train  off,  for  under 
the  present  circumstances  the  longer  the  people 
stayed  the  more  harm  it  would  work  for  him. 

The  owner  of  the  horses  and  wagon  was  sleeping 
off  the  drink  of  the  night  before,  and  though  the  har- 
ness was  primitive  enough,  Jerry  had  to  hunt  for  some 
one  to  show  him  how  the  thing  was  managed.  At 
last,  however,  it  was  ready,  and  he  drove  down  to  Paul 
Henley's,  where  the  ladies,  many  of  them  in  tears, 
were  waiting  for  him  anxiously. 

Out  they  trooped,  bag  and  baggage,  with  Paul 
bringing  up  the  rear,  and  looking  decidedly  the  worse 
for  wear. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Wilkerson  !  "  and  Mrs.  Greg  clasped 
both  his  hands  effusively,  "you  come  like  a  guardian 
angel  ;  do  you  think  we  can  get  away  ? — and  where  is 
Charles  ?  " 

"  You  can  get  away  if  you  go  immediately,"  Jerry 
answered  literally,  "  but  if  you  delay  you  may  have  to 
stay  with  us  for  a  month." 

There  was  a  general  outcry  at  this,  and  the  whole 
party  began  to  scramble  into  the  wagon,  with  or  with- 
out help. 

"  There  can  be  no  such  need  for  haste,"  Paul  re- 
monstrated impatiently,  "  and  Greg  has  not  come  yet." 

"  He  must  meet  them  at  the  other  station,"  Jerry 
answered  decisively,  gathering  up  the  reins,  and  taking 
his  place  next  to  Edith  Henley,  who  was  seated  in 
front.  "  Will  you  come?  "  he  added,  without  looking 
at  Paul. 

"  Of  course  !  "  Isabel  Greg  cried,  and  Paul  climbed 
in  beside  her. 

The  drive  to  the  station  was  short,  but  it  was  heavy, 


43° 

and  the  wind  that  had  them  at  its  mercy  was  cruelly 
cutting. 

"  I  shall  never  again  yearn  for  the  West,"  Edith 
Henley  said  plaintively,  "  and  I  do  not  see  how  you 
and  Paul  have  managed  to  live  here  so  long,  Mr. 
Wilkerson." 

"  I  have  never  had  any  other  home,"  Jerry  an- 
swered, "  and  I  like  it." 

"  Paul  does  not,"  she  went  on,  creeping  a  little 
nearer  to  Jerry  so  as  to  be  more  sheltered  from  the 
wind,  "  and  says  he  will  leave  very  soon." 

"  Finally?  "  came  involuntarily  from  Jerry. 

"Yes,  just  as  soon  as  he  has  made  arrangements 
out  here  that  will  give  him  plenty  of  money";  then 
there  was  silence  between  them  until  the  shed  was 
reached  where  the  half-frozen,  thoroughly  demoralized 
excursionists  were  huddled  together.  The  train  was 
only  waiting  for  these  ladies,  as  the  directors  were  to 
be  picked  up  at  Eureka,  so  the  farewells  were  short. 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  you  have  been  so  kind," 
and  Mrs.  Greg  held  both  his  hands,  while  her  soft, 
brown  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  "  you  must  come  to  us 
this  summer  at  Newport ;  be  sure  you  come  !  "  Then 
Isabel  and  Edith  shook  hands  with  him  ;  and  the 
other  ladies  said  things  he  could  not  hear,  and  Paul, 
and  Jim  Short,  and  the  maids,  all  loaded  down  with 
innumerable  packages,  went  in,  and  the  door  was 
shut. 

Then  the  train  backed  slowly  down  the  grade.  It 
was  a  precarious  experiment  with  snow  on  the  track, 
and  Jerry  watched  anxiously,  afraid  of  some  accident, 
and  warned  the  Burden's  people  not  to  be  surprised 
if  the  whole  party  were  back  on  their  hands  before 
night. 

But  his  watching  could  not  help  matters,  and  he 
took  his  way  up  to  the  dam  :  he  wanted  to  be  alone, 
and  there  was  a  fascination  for  him  in  the  swirling 
water  drawing  down  into  black  eddies,  and  dashing 
into  angry  foam  over  the  rocks.  Up  and  up  he  climbed 


JERRY.  431 

until  he  reached  the  dam  where  the  water  spread  into 
a  lake  almost.  But  above  and  below  this  lake,  how 
the  water  tore  along,  flinging  the  spray  far  to  right 
and  left  ;  a  mighty  power, — and  in  the  summer  it  was 
only  a  silver  thread  that  wasted  to  spray  as  it  fell  ! 

Jerry  stood  and  watched  it,  heedless  of  the  bitter 
wind — heedless  of  the  snow  that  was  banking  silently 
on  the  path — thinking  idly  and  aimlessly. 

How  much  had  Paul  injured  him  ?  and  what  a  lovely 
thing  Edith  Henley  was  ;  if  he  made  a  fortune  he 
could  win  such  a  creature  as  that,  and  if  he  failed  ? — 

His  thoughts  seemed  to  pass  out  of  his  keeping,  and 
the  bitterness  of  the  night  swept  over  him.  If  he 
failed  he  would  commit  an  awful  crime,  and  all  the 
world  would  turn  from  him.  An  awful  crime  to  kill 
the  man  who  had  ruined  him  ?  It  might  be  a  crime 
over  in  the  civilized  states,  but  out  in  the  wilds  men 
were  killed  for  much  less — sometimes  for  nothing. 
Kill  him  ?  Ay,  if  he  were  hanged  for  it ! 

The  snow  deepened  marvelously  while  he  stood  on 
the  dam,  and  his  way  to  Mrs.  Milton's  was  one  long 
fight,  so  that  the  evening  was  falling  fast  when  he 
reached  the  door.  He  was  cold  and  tired,  and  stopped 
to  rest  by  the  fire  in  Mrs.  Milton's  room. 

The  fire  was  low,  and  the  room  in  shadow,  and  the 
door  into  the  kitchen  was  shut  ;  but  he  could  see  a 
light  in  there,  and  hear  voices  quite  distinctly  through 
the  thin  walls. 

He  did  not  heed  them  just  at  first,  any  more  than 
he  heeded  the  rattle  of  pans  that  told  him  supper  was 
being  prepared  ;  but  presently  Mrs.  Milton  raised  her 
voice  angrily,  and  her  words  caught  his  attention. 

"  I  tell  you,  Dan  Burk,  thet  Jerry  Wilkerson  come 
by  thet  money  hones'  ;  I  knowed  all  along  as  Joe 
Gilliam  were  a-savin'  money,  an'  you  knowed  it  too ; 
an'  if  Joe  Gilliam's  money  wuzn't  hones',  an'  b'longed 
to  'Lije  Milton, — it's  pisen  sure  thet  youuns'  money 
aint  hones'  an'  b'longed  to  'Lije  Milton  too  !  "  and 
she  slapped  her  hands  together  vigorously. 


43 2  JERRY. 

"  Lord,  Mis'  Milton,  don't  git  so  mad,"  and  Burk 
laughed  uneasily,  "  I  aint  said  nothin'  against  Mr. 
Wilkerson  ;  but  it  do  look  reelly  curious  for  him  to 
have  sicher  lot ;  durned  if  these  men  didn't  say  thet 
he  owns  the  most  of  Burden's  Mine  ! — buyin'  it  for 
the  people  !  "  scornfully. 

"  An'  Jerry  Wilkerson  did  buy  it  for  the  people, 
Dan  Burk,"  and  Mrs.  Milton's  voice  rang  higher  than 
before,  "  an'  youuns  is  jest  a-strainin'  yerself  to  lie  ; 
'cause  Joe  Gilliam  warn't  no  deader  ner  you  when 
Jerry  buyed  it,  an*  Jerry  never  hed  no  money  then — 
consarn  yer  bleary  old  eyes  !  " 

Then  there  came  a  movement,  a  scraping  of  chairs 
as  if  Burk  meditated  a  retreat. 

"  Goin',  is  yer  ?  "  Mrs.  Milton  went  on  ;  "  well,  I'm 
glad,  an'  jest  you  'members  thet  I'm  agoin'  to  tell 
Jerry  Wilkerson  if  I  hearn  'bout  this  agin  ;  an'  you 
kin  jest  be  skeary,  sure,  'cause  he'll  shoot  the  gizzards 
plum  outer  the  las'  one  thet  lies  'bout  him  ;  an'  don't 
you  furgit  it,"  and  she  slammed  the  door  violently 
behind  her  vanquished  visitor. 

Jerry  sat  still  for  a  moment  while  there  came  a  clang 
of  pans  as  if  Mrs.  Milton  were  venting  her  wrath  on 
them  ;  then  he  put  off  his  hat  and  coat,  so  as  to  look 
at  ease  and  unhurried,  and  walked  slowly  into  the 
kitchen. 

"  Whom  must  I  shoot,  Mrs.  Milton  ? "  he  asked, 
standing  before  her  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

Mrs.  Milton  started  guiltily,  dropping  a  pan. 

"  Lord  !  Jerry  Wilkerson,  you  took  me  or!  to  pieces," 
she  exclaimed,  while  Jerry  picked  up  the  pan  and  put 
it  on  the  table  ;  "  did  you  hearn  Dan  Burk  a-lyin' 
hisseff  inside  out  ?  "  she  went  on. 

"  He  does  not  know  how  to  do  anything  else,  Mrs. 
Milton,"  Jerry  answered  quietly. 

"  An'  you  choosed  him  fur  youuns'  pard  ? "  she 
asked,  losing  her  usual  stolidity  in  blank  surprise. 

"  I  chose  him  only  because  he  seemed  to  be  the 
friend  of  everybody,  while  I  knew  no  one." 


JERRY.  433 

"  Jest  so,"  angrily,  "  f riens  alonger  orl  the  folks," 
shaking  her  head  slowly;  "  I've  knowed  him  nigh  onter 
thirty  yeer,  I  hev,  an'  Dan  Burk  allers  sweeps  his 
leaves  the  way  the  wind's  a-blowin',  he  do ;  drat 
*im!  " 

"  And  the  wind  is  blowing  away  from  me  ?  "  Jerry 
asked,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips — a  smile  that  did  not 
reach  his  tired  eyes. 

"You  kin  jest  bet  on  thet,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  she 
answered  vehemently,  stopping  her  work  and  gesticu- 
lating with  a  fork,  "  an'  if  you  hed  jester  come  to 
me,  Jerry  Wilkerson,  an'  a-said,  '  Mis'  Milton,  Joe's 
done  left  me  a  heap  of  money,  an'  I'm  a-goin'  to  sen' 
it  down  east,'  I'd  a-said,  '  Orl  right,  Jerry  Wilkerson, 
Mandy  Milton  aint  agointer  blab,'  an'  it  would  a-been 
as  soft'  as  mud  when  the  folks  commenst  a-sayin'  thet 
youuns  hed  a  letter  money  hidin'  down  east, — Lord  !  " 
going  back  to  the  bacon  she  was  frying,  "  I  could 
a-curled  'em  up  liker  pig's  tail ;  drat  'em  !  " 

Jerry  sat  down,  clasping  his  hands  over  his  head, 
and  tilting  his  chair  back. 

"  It  would  have  been  better,"  he  said  slowly,  "  but 
I  did  not  know  you  then,  Mrs.  Milton." 

"  Thet's  true,"  she  acknowledged  ;  "  Joe  never  let 
you  go  anighst  nobody  ceppen  the  doctor,  an'  thet 
blasted  Henley  ;  an'  now  it's  him  thet  is  a-doin'  orl  the 
mischief  an'  the  meanness." 

"  I  know  it,"  Jerry  answered,  "  he  talked  last  night 
until  I  put  my  pistols  down  on  the  table." 

"  I'll  bet  on  you,"  and  the  old  woman  chuckled 
grimly,  "  an'  I'll  bet  thet  them  city  men  looked  sorter 
onressless  ;  like  thar  were  a  brier  sommers  on  the 
bench." 

Jerry  laughed  a  little. 

"  They  did,"  he  said,  "  but  Greg  spoke  well." 

"  Greg's  a  right  tastey  little  chap,"  Mrs.  Milton  al- 
lowed, "  but  I  reckon  hisn's  mammy  made  him  go 
roun'  in  frocks  too  long  ;  Greg  ailers  wants  sumpen 
to  lean  aginst  ;  an'  as  fur  thet  Henley,"  stabbing  the 


434  JERRY. 

bacon  fiercely  as  she  took  it  from  the  pan,  "  he's  done 
busted  his'n  gall-bag  young  ;  drat  'im  !  " 

"  How  will  they  hurt  me,  Mrs.  Milton  ?  "  and  Jerry 
watched  to  find  out  what  she  knew. 

"  They  aint  said  yit,"  shaking  her  head,  "  but 
you'll  know  jest  as  soon  as  I  knows." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Milton,"  and  Jerry  drew  his  chair 
to  the  table  where  the  supper  had  been  put. 

"It  aint  no  thanks  I  wants  from  youuns,  Jerry  Wil- 
kerson,"  and  she  poured  out  a  great  bowl  of  coffee 
and  put  it  by  his  plate,  "  I  jest  wants  you  to  stay 
har,  jest  so  old  Mandy  Milton  kin  grip  a  han'  as 
b'longs  to  her,  an'  hev  a  hones'  creetur  to  tuck  what 
she  hes  to  leave.  I've  been  a  savin'  woman,  Jerry 
Wilkerson,"  pausing  with  her  arms  akimbo,  and  look- 
ing down  into  Jerry's  astonished  eyes,  "  an'  I've  done 
saved  a  right  smart  of  money  ;  an'  jest  you  live  har 
so  thet  I  kin  know  thar's  sumpen  as  is  Mandy  Milton's, 
an'  when  I'm  gone,  you  kin  hev  it  orl  ;  sure 
enough,"  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her 
apron  as  Jerry  stood  beside  her  with  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder. 

Here  was  a  true  friendship  given  to  him  without 
any  seeking  on  his  part  ;  without  any  motive  behind 
it  save  that  the  old  heart  that  offered  it  was  lonely. 
After  all,  he  would  not  have  to  buy  trust  and  truth  ; 
it  was  here,  offered  to  him  freely,  simply,  by  this  ugly 
old  woman,  whose  little  eyes  deep-bedded  in  wrinkles 
were  shining  with  something  like  tears  :  and  they  were 
truer  than  Mrs.  Greg's  soft  brown  eyes,  he  could  see 
that  now  ;  and  the  hand  held  out  to  him  was  hard, 
and  distorted  by  work,  but  it  was  held  out  to  him 
when  he  stood  on  the  verge  of  failure  ! 

There  was  a  strange  feeling  in  his  throat,  and  he 
could  scarcely  say  the  simple  "  I  will,  Mrs.  Milton," 
that  sealed  their  compact :  then  he  sat  down  again, 
and  Mrs.  Milton  put  all  the  dishes  about  his  plate, 
talking  rapidly  the  while. 

"  My  boys  would  a-been  jest   like  youuns,  if  the 


JERRY.  435 

measles  hedn't  tuck  'em  off ;  and  when  you  goes 
a-trompin'  roun',  I  jest  'Hows  diet  it's  my  Sammy  done 
growed  up,  I  do,"  again  resorting  to  the  corner  of  her 
apron,  "  an'  jest  you  let  these  pore  creeturs  roun' 
this  yer  town  come  a-howlin'  about  you,"  fiercely, 
"an'  Mandy  Milton'll  make  'em  pisen  sure  thet  they's 
a-stannin'  on  the  wrong  end  ;  jest  you  bet  on  thet  !  " 
sitting  down  vigorously  and  filling  her  plate  with 
supper. 

"  I  would  not  worry  about  it,"  Jerry  said  quietly  ; 
"  people  always  think  you  are  afraid  when  you  ex- 
plain things,  and  make  excuses  ;  I  do  not  intend  to 
say  a  word." 

Mrs.  Milton  put  down  her  knife  and  fork,  and 
pushed  up  her  glasses. 

"Jest  so!"  she  began  sarcastically,  nodding  her 
head  slowly,  "  thet's  the  way  the  doctor  done  ;  jest  the 
way,  an'  the  folks  don't  know  this  minute  if  he  wuz  a 
raskil,  er  a  angil,  they  don't,"  again  attacking  her  sup- 
per. "  Jest  you  keep  yer  mouth  shet,  an'  when  the 
folks  is  done  a-cussin'  an'  a-lyin'  'bout  you,  then 
jest  fall  off  a  rock  an'  gie  'em  orl  youuns'  money ;  an' 
they  wont  keer  a  durn  :  thet's  the  way,  jest  you 
grip  onter  thet,  an'  they'll  tuck  orl  youuns  is  got,  an' 
furgit  you  ter-morrer.  Golly  ! "  taking  a  long 
draught  of  coffee,  "  I  know  what  you  don't,  Jerry 
Wilkerson,  thet  cussin'  is  the  best  thing  fur  mos'  folks; 
cuss  'em  tell  they're  skeered  thet  you'll  shoot  'em, 
an'  they'll  clean  yer  boots  alonger  their  tongues,  you 
bet ! " 

"  Well,"  and  Jerry  rose  wearily  from  his  place, 
"  they  have  not  ruined  me  yet,  and  maybe  they  will 
not." 

"  Mebbe,"  slowly,  "  an'  mebbe  the  snow'll  not  melt, 
mebbe  ;  but  it  won't  be  fur  lacker  tryin'.  Just  you 
shoot  a  few,  an'  knock  down  the  res',  an*  they'll 
think  thet  Jerry  Wilkerson's  the  biggest  man  in 
'Meriky — thar  aint  nothin'  you've  done  thet's  made 
you  look  so  big  as  knockin'  down  Dave  Morris." 


43  6  JERR  y. 

Jerry  laughed  again  ;  the  weary  laugh  that  comes 
of  despair, — that  laughs  because  that  is  as  good  as 
tears  or  expostulations. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  pausing  with  his  hand  on 
the  door,  "  and  believe  that  I  am  truly  thankful  to 
you,  Mrs.  Milton,  for  your  trust  and  friendship  given 
me  now  when  the  world  is  turning  away  from  me." 

Mrs.  Milton  scraped  the  plates  violently  before 
casting  them  into  the  pan  of  hot  water  that  stood 
near. 

"  Youuns  is  welcome,  Jerry  Wilkerson,"  she  an- 
swered tersely,  "  but  don't  say  nothin'  mo'  'bout  it — it 
makes  me  feel  rale  puny  when  I  hears  sich  largin" 
words,  'cause  I  aint  got  none  to  jaw  back :  jest  you 
go  'long  an'  ress,  an'  git  up  a  little  sperret  'ginst  the 
mornin'  ;  don't  say  nothin'  mo',"  and  Jerry,  obeying 
her,  shut  the  door  and  went  upstairs  slowly. 

He  was  weary  unto  death  :  no  aim  nor  end  that 
could  be  claimed  by  man  seemed  to  him  worth  the 
exertion  that  would  be  necessary  to  win  it.  The  re- 
action from  a  great  effort  and  a  great  passion  was 
upon  him  :  he  had  worked  to  the  utmost  of  his 
strength,  physical  and  mental,  only  to  find  himself 
thwarted  at  every  point  ;  only  to  find  himself  under- 
mined, and  on  the  brink  of  ruin. 

He  turned  restlessly  on  the  bed  where  he  had 
thrown  himself. 

It  was  impossible  that  he  should  fail  :  if  Eureka 
did  grow  equally  with  Burden's,  it  would  help  him, 
not  hurt  him.  And  if  the  people  had  found  out  that 
he  had  money,  that  would  not  harm  him,  they  could 
not  take  it  away  ;  he  was  sure  of  this  now,  for  he  had 
heard  Mrs.  Milton  say  that  Dan  Burk's  money  had 
come  from  the  same  place  as  Joe's.  Dan  Burk  would 
keep  quiet,  and  Mrs.  Milton  was  his  friend  ;  beyond 
this,  how  could  the  people  have  any  feeling  against 
him,  or  harm  him  because  of  the  money  ?  he  had  said 
publicly  how  he  got  it.  He  was  sure  it  was  all  safe 
except  the  stream,  and  this  last  fall  of  snow  would 


JERRY.  437 

make  it  rise ;  he  could  see  it  now  swirling  and  foam- 
ing on  its  way.  And  sleep  overtook  him  as  he  lay 
there  ;  the  dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion  ;  and  the 
faint  daylight  creeping  in  the  window  showed  him 
white  and  haggard,  with  the  bands  of  silver  hair  on 
his  temples  grown  broader,  and  the  lines  on  his  face 
deepened  and  drawn. 

A  worn,  weary  face  that  even  in  sleep  had  an 
anxious,  eager  look  on  it ;  and  all  the  youth  and  hope 
gone  from  it. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 
"Something  is  rotten  in  the  state  of  Denmark." 

A  GREAT  stillness  had  fallen  over  the  town  :  a 
stillness  of  disappointment  and  reaction,  and  out 
of  the  stillness  there  arose  a  sound  like  the  whis- 
pering of  the  wind  as  it  creeps  by  in  the  summer 
nights ;  inarticulate,  intangible,  and  yet  a  sound 
caused  ;  a  fact  that  would  have  an  effect. 

There  was  nothing  to  take  hold  of  ;  nothing  that 
could  be  answered  ;  no  points  that  could  be  fought 
for  and  won  ;  no  place  where  a  stand  could  be  made. 

Day  and  night  Jerry  listened  and  .watched  :  Mrs. 
Milton  fumed  and  fretted  because  she  could  hear 
nothing  :  going  about  among  her  neighbors  more  than 
ever  before  in  her  life  ;  condescending  even  to  a  con- 
versation with  Jim  Short,  if  so  be  she  might  gain  a 
little  information. 

And  Greg  was  uneasy  :  Paul  had  been  inclined  to 
make  a  friend  of  him  at  first,  but  after  the  decided 
stand  Greg  had  taken  at  the  supper,  he  had  been -less 
effusive.  He  was  pleasant  and  cordial  still ;  regretted 
the  failure  of  the  excursion  and  the  hasty  departure 
of  the  ladies  ;  invited  Greg  to  dinner  to  meet  Mr. 
Henshaw  and  Mr.  Mills,  and  after  dinner  read  aloud 
criticisms  from  the  papers  on  Burden's  and  Eureka, 
and  on  their  relative  merit  as  investments  ;  in  all  of 
which  the  danger  from  the  stream  was  enlarged  on  to 
the  detriment  of  Burden's. 

"  You  should  write  a  piece,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Hen- 
shaw, "  giving  your  views  on  the  subject." 

Mr.  Henshaw  rubbed  his  head  in  a  troubled  way. 

"  There  is  danger  in  it,"  he  said  in  his  slow,  literal 

438 


JERRY.  439 

way,  "  danger  I  am  realizing  more  and  more  every 
day — danger  I  did  not  dream  of  when  I  wrote  my  first 
letter ;  and  perhaps  it  is  my  duty  to  explain  the  true 
state  of  things." 

Paul  laughed  lightly. 

"  Scarcely  your  duty  to  direct  the  investments  of 
people,"  he  said,  "  but  you  should  rather  build  up 
the  credit  of  Durden's  ;  you  must  stand  up  for  it." 

"  And  you  need  not  be  so  anxious  about  it,"  Greg 
added. 

Mr.  Mills  shook  his  head. 

"  I  should  be,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  Well,"  said  Greg,  "  I  am  not,  and  my  father  is  in 
very  heavily." 

Paul's  face  sobered  a  little.  Would  the  failure  of 
Durden's  influence  Isabel  Greg's  fortune  materially  ? 
he  wondered. 

"  I  should  advise  him  to  draw  out  a  little,"  he  sug- 
gested, "  at  least  until  the  danger  from  the  spring 
snow  is  over." 

44 1  do  not  admit  the  danger,"  Greg  answered 
stiffly  ;  and  the  next  day  advised  Jerry  not  to  let 
Henshaw  write  any  more  public  letters  about  Dur- 
den's. 

All  was  very  easy  and  smooth  in  the  way  things 
were  going  :  the  lunch-room  in  Eureka  was  gaining 
favor  every  day  ;  the  Durden's  Banner  had  constant 
notices  of  people  who  were  negotiating  for  homes  in 
Eureka,  and  Jerry  was  in  receipt  of  many  letters  as  to 
the  leasing  of  the  lots  left  by  the  doctor. 

From  his  broker  Jerry  heard  that  more  Durden's 
stock  had  been  bought  in  for  him,  and  that  there  was 
no  fluctuation  about  it  ;  the  excursion  had  clone  good, 
Mr.  Glendale  thought,  except  for  a  dangerous  stream 
which  had  of  late  been  brought  before  the  public  in 
connection  with  the  mine  ;  this  was  a  little  unfortu- 
nate, but  when  the  summer  came  it  would  be  all  right 
again  ;  and  he  held  all  stock  according  to  Mr.  Wilker- 
son's  order:;,  ready  to  sell  at  a  moment's  notice;  but  if  he 


44°  JERR  Y. 

contemplated  selling,  now  was  the  time  to  do  it  ;  only 
telegraph  the  word  "  sell,"  and  he  would  under- 
stand. 

Only  one  word,  and  he  would  be  safe  out  of  all 
this  turmoil  and  worry,  and  much  benefited  by  the 
speculation.  And  why  should  not  he  ?  Everybody 
knew  the  danger  now  as  well  as  he  ;  why  should  not 
he  withdraw,  and  so  thwart  all  Paul's  schemes  by  leav- 
ing him  no  one  to  scheme  against  ? 

The  thought  of  the  people  had  no  weight  with  him 
now,  for  day  by  day  he  could  feel  them  drawing  fur- 
ther and  further  away  from  him.  There  was  nothing 
said  or  done,  but  there  were  no  hats  lifted  now  as  he 
passed,  and  there  was  always  a  cessation  of  talk,  and 
a  separating  of  any  group  he  happened  to  approach  : 
and  he  felt  that  he  was  free  from  any  responsibility 
for  them.  There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
withdraw  if  he  wished  ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  one 
dividend  declared  and  his  fortune  was  made — a  great 
fortune  such  as  he  had  dreamed  of,  the  gold  that  was 
to  lie  about  him  like  chips.  And  Edith  Henley,  could 
not  he  win  her  ?  He  remembered  how  she  had 
crouched  behind  him  that  day  when  he  drove  her 
to  the  station — and  the  revenge  would  be  so  ex- 
quisite. 

Fail !     He  could  not  fail — he  would  not  fail  ! 

And  he  would  make  feverish  efforts  to  push  the 
work  on,  to  have  this  one  saving  dividend  declared  ; 
but  Mr.  Henshaw  would  not  be  hurried.  And  now 
another  conscientious  scruple  had  entered  as  a  factor 
to  retard  things  :  was  it  honest  to  go  on  spending 
money  in  putting  works  into  a  mine  that  was  not 
safe  ?  Would  it  not  be  right  to  wait  until  the  threat- 
ened danger  was  over  ? 

And  to  this  Jerry  uttered  a  po'int-blank  no  ;  but 
somehow  the  idea  crept  out  among  the  people,  and 
along  with  it  another  idea  that  a  dividend  would 
double  Jerry's  already  suspicious  fortune,  and  that 
then  he  could  and  would  sell  out,  leaving  the  rest 


JERRY.  441 

of   the   shareholders   to   scramble   out   as  best  they 
could. 

And  the  men  who  worked  in  the  mine  because  they 
were  shareholders  were  sullen,  and  worked  unwil- 
lingly ;  and  there  was  no  money  to  increase  the  force 
of  day-laborers  ;  and  Mr.  Henshaw  urged  nobody, 
for  he  thought  the  work  ought  to  stop — a  stolid,  pas- 
sive resistance  that  made  Jerry's  blood  boil  ! 

And  at  the  end  of  the  forlorn  street,  standing  where 
Jerry  could  see  it  every  evening  as  he  came  from  his 
work,  was  the  little  building  known  as  the  telegraph 
office  ;  every  evening  when  he  was  weary  and  harassed 
the  thought  would  come  to  him  that  one  word  sent 
from  there  would  free  him  from  all  this  anxiety. 
Anxiety  ?  He  had  worked  too  hard,  he  had  borne 
too  much,  he  had  fought  too  long,  he  had  weathered 
too  many  storms,  to  give  up  now  when  success  was  in 
such  close  grasp  of  his  hand — to  give  up  and  acknowl- 
edge himself  beaten  ! 

But  the  murmur  swelled  as  the  work  in  the  mine 
was  retarded,  and  as  the  snow  melted,  and  each  day 
the  miners  were  more  unwilling. 

Jerry  said  no  word  of  remonstrance,  urged  no 
haste  ;  he  was  so  eager  to  win  that  he  saw  too  many 
sides  of  the  problem  before  him.  If  he  urged  them 
on,  they  would  say  it  was  for  his  own  benefit,  and  so 
resist  ;  if  he  did  not  urge  them,  they  would  say  he 
had  money  enough  to  carry  him  over  the  delay  ;  if  he 
urged  Mr.  Henshaw,  he  would  stop  to  argue  on  the 
honesty  of  the  proceeding,  and  so  publish  their  weak- 
ness ;  if  he  urged  the  Company,  they  would  instantly 
lose  confidence  in  the  venture.  The  tension  was 
dreadful  ;  to  stand  and  watch  the  work  diminish  day 
by  day  in  quantity  ;  to  watch  the  people  growing 
more  and  more  restive  ;  to  watch  the  water,  that  from 
the  dam  spread  out  into  a  small  lake,  creep  up  higher 
and  higher  ;  to  watch  the  days  that  might  each  one 
mean  a  fortune,  slipping  by  unheeded  :  how  long 
could  he  bear  it  ? 


442  JERRY. 

If  only  they  would  have  the  sense  to  realize  their 
own  good,  and  drive  forward  now,  before  the  snow 
melted,  the  declaration  of  a  dividend. 

But  he  could  not  'tell  them  this  :  putting  it  into 
words  made  him  realize  how  it  went  against  all  the 
teachings  of  his  life,  all  the  instincts  of  his  nature.  To 
say  "  work  hard  while  the  stream  is  yet  safe,  force  the 
declaration  of  a  dividend  ;  then  if  the  danger  increases 
to  peril,  sell,  and  so  double  your  investment."  He 
could  not  say  this  ;  he  might  do  it,  but  he  could  not 
look  his  fellow-man  in  the  face  and  say  it :  if  it  were  to 
be  done,  it  must  be  accomplished  by  a  side  pressure 
of  some  kind, — and  he  said  to  Dan  Burk: 

"  Mr.  Glendale  who  bought  out  the  half  of  every 
Burden's  man's  share  in  the  mine,  when  they  were 
pushed  in  the  winter,  is  willing  to  buy  the  other  half 
if  they  will  sell  now  before  a  dividend  is  declared." 

"  He  wants  all  the  profits,"  and  Dan  laughed. 

"  Of  course,"  quietly,  "  and  they  will  be  great." 

Dan  shook  his  head. 

"  Mebbe,  an*  mebbe  not ;  "  slowly,  "  but  I  aint  got 
no  capital  to  hold  over  no  longer,  an'  he  kin  have  all 
of  mine";  then  with  a  smile,  '  I  hear  thet  you're  agoin' 
to  sell,  yourself." 

The  color  crept  up  into  Jerry's  face,  and  he  longed 
to  teach  the  man  a  lesson  with  his  fists  ;  but  it  would 
not  be  expedient  just  now,  and  he  answered 
quietly  : 

"  That  is  a  lie,  Burk,  and  you  know  it." 

"  Just  so,"  and  Burk  smoothed  his  sleek  hair  as  if 
in  deep  thought — "well,  it's  a  lie  then  ;  an'  Mr.  Hen- 
ley's just  done  sellin'  all  of  his  stock,  an' the  same  Mr. 
Glendale  that  wants  it  so  bad,"  still  smoothing  his 
hair,  "bought  it  for  you,  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  looking  up 
suddenly  as  if  to  surprise  some  tell-tale  expression  on 
Jerry's  face.  Jerry  met  the  look  quietly,  as  he  an- 
swered : 

"Your  new  master  teaches  you  well,  Burk,  but  not 
well  enough  ;  you  will  outwit  yourselves  very  soon. 


JERRY.  443 

Tell  Mr.  Henley  that  there  is  an  old  saying  '  that  a  dog 
that  will  fetch,  will  carry'." 

"  I'll  tell  him,"  Burk  answered,  while  his  forehead 
seemed  to  flatten  back  with  rage,  "  an'  mebbe  I  don't 
understand  it,  an'  won't  remember  it,  mebbe.  All  the 
same,  tell  Mr.  Glendale  he  kin  have  all  my  shares." 

Jerry  laughed. 

"  Very  well,  when  I  have  occasion  to  write  again  I 
will  tell  him." 

"An*  mebbe  when  a  dividend  is  declared,  I'll  be 
sorry,"  Dan  said  as  Jerry  turned  away,  "  mebbe." 

Reaching  his  office,  Jerry  sat  down  trembling  from 
head  to  foot  :  anger  was  no  name  for  his  frame  of 
mind.  He  had  not  gained  anything  by  his  effort  to 
excite  Dan's  covetousness  in  the  mention  of  a  divi- 
dend, Paul  had  undermined  him  too  carefully,  but  he 
had  found  out  more  clearly  his  own  danger,  and  that 
it  was  greater  than  he  thought.  And  he  had  found 
out  that  Paul  had  held  Durden's  stock  ;  of  course  he 
had  bought  it  only  that  he  might  injure  the  scheme  by 
selling  at  a  critical  moment ;  and  he  had  sold  now  ! 

"  I  should  have  killed  him  long  ago,"  Jerry  whis- 
pered to  himself. 

The  days  crept  on  ;  and  a  sullen,  fitful  sleet  took 
the  place  of  the  snow  that  had  been  falling  intermit- 
tently ever  since  the  excursion.  Looking  back,  and 
straining  his  memory,  Jerry  could  not  recall  any  spring 
like  this  one  ;  and  the  only  gleam  of  hope  was  that  it 
was  growing  colder. 

Mr.  Henshaw  still  hesitated  ;  watching  the  stream 
conscientiously,  going  day  after  day  to  stand  on  the 
dam — anxious,  miserable,  ruinously  honest ! 

Longer  and  longer  the  days  seemed  to  stretch,  un- 
til to  Jerry  they  spread  into  desert-wastes  of  time. 
The  level  sweep  of  water  at  the  dam  was  so  high  that 
the  little  film  of  ice  which  was  gathering  along  the 
edges  was  barely  an  inch  below  the  top  :  but  this  film 
of  ice  was  a  hope  ! 

The  silver  bands  of  hair  on  Jerry's  temples  grew 


444  JERR  Y. 

wider  ;  the  lines  in  his  face  grew  deeper  ;  the  light  in 
his  eyes  grew  into  a  painful  brightness  that  glittered 
and  flickered  restlessly. 

More  of  the  stock  had  been  bought  in  in  his  name  ; 
loan  after  loan  had  been  negotiated  for  him  that  he 
might  buy  the  shares  that  now  seemed  daily  on  the 
market  ;  he  could  not  understand  it,  nor  why  the  peo- 
ple seemed  to  be  returning  to  their  allegiance  to  him. 
Hats  were  lifted  now  when  he  passed,  and  the  greet- 
ings offered  him  were  more  hearty.  But  Greg  grew 
more  and  more  grave  ;  Mr.  Henshaw,  more  and  more 
uncertain,  and  Mrs.  Milton  lifted  a  warning  voice  : 

"  Thar's  somethin'  wrong  sommers,"  she  said,  "  if 
only  you'd  kill  a  few,  Jerry  Wilkerson." 

The  number  of  shareholders  who  worked  in  the  mine 
steadily  decreased  :  every  day  as  Greg  called  the  roll, 
the  answer  would  come  for  two  or  three — "  stopped 
work";  often  Jerry  stopped  them  to  put  them  at 
other  work — often  they  paid  money  instead  of  work — 
but  at  last  when  he  realized  that  many  had  never  re- 
turned to  the  mine,  it  struck  him  that  they  must  be 
selling  out.  None  of  the  directors  had  sold  any  stock 
as  far  as  he  could  find  out  from  his  father  and  brother, 
yet  it  was  creeping  out  in  New  York  that  Burden's 
was  selling  secretly  because  unsafe.  Something  was 
wrong,  and  Greg  went  to  see  Jerry  for  the  first  time 
in  weeks. 

"The  Burden's  people  must  be  selling,"  he  said  ab- 
ruptly, as  he  took  off  his  hat  and  coat. 

Jerry  looked  up  quickly. 

"  That  solves  the  problem,"  he  said  ;  "  Glendale 
could  not  trace  the  stock." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  and  Greg  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  impatiently. 

"  I  was  afraid  the  directors  were  giving  in,"  Jerry 
went  on. 

Greg  shook  his  head. 

"  Father  and  Van  Busen  have  bought  more  ;  and  I 
came  to-day  to  tell  you,"  and  Greg  stopped  in  his 


JERRY.  445 

walk,  "  that  father  urges  the  declaration  of  a  dividend 
even  if  a  point  is  strained  to  do  it." 

"  Then  they  must  send  me  another  engineer,"  Jerry 
answered,  "  Henshaw  will  not  be  hurried." 

Greg  took  another  turn  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  I  have  not  been  able  to  say  this,"  Jerry  went  on, 
"  because  I  have  too  much  at  stake  :  my  urging  a  divi- 
dend would  only  have  convinced  the  shareholders  that 
the  investment  was  not  safe,  and  it  would  have  been 
a  race  to  see  who  could  sell  out  first,  and  the  scheme 
would  have  collapsed  :  urging  Henshaw  and  the  peo- 
ple, would  have  caused  the  same  distrust  :  my  only 
plan  was  to  wait." 

"  It  is  all  true,"  Greg  said  slowly,  "  but  I  had  not 
realized  it ;  "  then  suddenly,  "  I  will  say  it,"  and  he 
turned  to  put  on  his  coat  and  hat — "  I  will  telegraph 
this  minute,"  and  he  left  the  little  office  hurriedly. 

Jerry  listened  to  his  footsteps  as  they  rang  on  the 
frozen  ground  ;  listened  until  the  sound  faded  from 
his  hearing,  then  put  his  face  down  in  his  hands. 
Was  help  coming  at  last  ?  would  any  response  be 
made  to  this  appeal  ?  were  the  shareholders  anxious 
enough  about  the  investment  to  take  any  steps  ? 

His  imagination  sprang  forward  like  an  unleashed 
hound  :  Henshaw  would  be  roused  from  his  lethargy  : 
a  dividend  would  be  declared  :  then —  ?  A  shudder 
as  of  the  parting  of  soul  and  body  shook  him  !  Then 
gold  would  fall  into  his  hands  as  the  stream  fell  down 
the  mountain  side — brimming  up — flowing  over — slip- 
ping through  his  careless  fingers  ! 

And  it  was  growing  colder — surely  his  luck  had 
turned  !  Ice  was  lord  of  water — ice  would  save  him. 
Colder  and  colder  it  grew  as  the  night  fell  ;  colder 
and  colder  through  the  long  dragging  hours  that  each 
one  found  him  waiting  and  watching  ;  colder  and 
colder  ;  bitter,  merciless,  intense.  The  pines  up  on 
the  mountain-side  bent  down  their  sturdy  heads  under 
their  glittering  loads  of  sleet— the  beams  of  the  houses 
creaked,  and  groaned,  and  jerked  ;  great  masses  of 


44^  JERR  Y. 

rock  cracked  and  fell  in  the  silent  night,  clanging  out 
sharply  as  with  a  protest  against  their  fall.  The 
morning  dawned,  and  no  sign  of  life,  save  smoke 
from  the  chimneys,  showed  the  presence  of  man  in 
the  town  ;  and  the  old  people  and  the  children  cried 
because  the  cold  was  killing  them. 

Twenty-four  hours  passed,  then  Greg  came  with  a 
telegram  : 

"  The  board  has  met  :  unanimous  vote  on  your 
proposition  :  much  stock  in  the  market.  No  one  sell- 
ing here.  CHAS.  T.  GREG." 

Jerry  read  it,  then  looked  up  quickly. 

"  You  were  right,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  Greg  answered,  "  the  Burden's  people  are 
selling  ;  every  day  as  I  call  the  roll  one  or  more  share- 
holders answer  '  Stopped  work."  I  thought  you  had 
them  at  work  elsewhere — or  that  you  knew  it  ;  Hen- 
shaw  knew  it." 

Jerry  walked  up  and  down  the  room  restlessly  :  the 
race  was  becoming  breathless  :  the  prize  was  so  near  ! 

"  This  freeze  is  a  godsend,"  Greg  went  on,  "  it 
makes  all  safe  as  long  as  it  lasts,  and  the  order  from 
the  board  may  be  for  Henshaw  to  declare  a  dividend 
before  a  thaw  comes  :  I  hope  they  will  make  it  deucedly 
strong." 

Jerry  did  not  answer — he  could  not,  the  issue  was 
too  vital  to  him  for  any  discussion  ;  for  him  life  or 
death  was  held  fast  in  this  freeze. 

A  dividend  while  the  freeze  lasted  would  put  a  hun- 
dred men  to  work  to  save  the  mine  before  a  thaw 
came  :  if  Henshaw  hesitated,  if  a  warm  wind  came, 
his  ruin  was  inevitable  ;  so  he  could  not  discuss  it. 

"  And  we  must  not  say  a  word  until  Henshaw  comes 
to  us,"  Greg  went  on  ;  "  it  must  seem  as  if  all  the  anx- 
iety was  with  the  eastern  shareholders.  If  Henshaw 
should  find  out  that  the  fears  originated  here,  he 
would  be  as  cautious  and  as  stolid  as  ever,  confound 
him  !  Mills  would  have  saved  us  long  ago." 

"  I  was  too  anxious  to  be  honest  when  I  described 


JERRY.  447 

the  engineer  I  wanted,"  and  Jerry  laughed.  "  Honesty 
only  pays  when,  as  in  the  copy-books,  it  is  policy." 

Greg  shook  his  head. 

"  I  would  not  say  that,"  he  said  in  a  troubled  way, 
"  it  does  not  sound  well." 

"  No,"  Jerry  answered,  "  it  does  not  sound  well." 

Another  night  had  fallen  black  and  cold  as  death  : 
would  not  the  houses,  as  well  as  the  rocks,  fall  in  this 
awful  coldness  ?  People  were  found  frozen  on  the 
roads  :  wild  creatures  came  down  and  sought  shelter 
near  humanity  ;  wolves  had  been  found  in  the  mines, 
and  in  the  nights  they  were  heard  wandering  up  and 
down  the  streets  and  crying,  seeking  shelter  against 
the  outsides  of  warm  chimneys. 

Cold  such  as  never  had  been  known  in  Burden's  ; 
and  the  old  people  and  the  little  children  lay  down 
and  died. 

It  was  too  late  in  the  year  for  such  a  freeze  to  last 
forever,  Mrs.  Milton  had  said  ;  and  much  of  it  had 
gone  when  Mr.  Henshaw  came  up  to  Jerry's  office, 
where  Greg  and  Jerry  watched  for  him  with  sickening 
anxiety.  He  looked  drawn  and  blue  with  cold,  his 
long,  thin  nose  looked  pinched,  and  behind  his  spec- 
tacles his  mild  blue  eyes  were  distressed  and  watery. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  asked,  before  he  had  taken 
off  his  hat  or  his  clumsy  woolen  gloves  that  his  "  Sue  " 
had  knit  for  him  ;  "  A  telegram  from  the  directors  that 
a  dividend  must  be  declared  ;  too  much  stock  on  the 
market." 

Jerry's  eyes  gleamed,  but  for  a  moment  he  could 
not  speak,  and  Greg  took  the  coarse  paper  from  Mr. 
Henshaw's  hands,. while  he  divested  himself  of  his 
out-door  wrappings. 

"  I  had  not  an  idea  that  it  would  have  such  an  effect 
as  this,"  Mr.  Henshaw  went  on,  putting  his  large 
overshoes  carefully  aside  ;  "  I  thought  it  was  right  to 
let  the  poor  who  had  invested  know  the  danger, 
and  Mr.  Henley  thought  so  too  ;  you  knew  all  the 
danger,  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  turning  to  Jerry,  who  was 


44§  JERR  Y. 

looking  into  the  fire  steadily,  "  and  you,  Mr.  Greg  ; 
and  besides,  Mr.  Henley  said  that  both  of  you  were 
well  enough  off  to  tide  over  even  a  failure,"  looking 
anxiously  from  one  to  the  other,  "  so  he  negotiated 
the  sales  of  the  poor  people's  shares  while  it  was  yet 
time  ;  and  he  showed  me  a  letter  from  a  broker  which 
said  it  would  not  hurt  the  venture,  as  Mr.  Wilkerson 
was  anxious  to  buy  all  the  stock  he  could  get,  and  was 
rich  enough  to  do  it  with  safety  ;  but,"  his  voice 
steadying  from  distress  to  dignity,  "  I  have  not  sold 
my  own  shares,  I  have  been  anxious  only  about  the 
very  poor," — then  a  silence  fell. 

To  Jerry  many  things  were  explained  as  Mr.  Hen- 
shaw  went  on  ;  Paul's  hand  was  in  all  his  trouble,  and 
Paul  might  succeed  yet.  The  room  seemed  to  spin 
round  him  ;  it  was  an  agonizing  moment ;  he  felt  he 
must  realize  something  in  order  to  steady  his  mind, 
and  he  fastened  his  eyes  on  Mr.  Henshaw's  great 
overshoes  that  were  ribbed  up  and  down  the  instep, 
and  turned  up  a  little  at  the  toes  that  looked  as  if  they 
might  often  touch  each  other  ;  and  the  heels  would  fit 
an  African  ! 

Jerry  smiled  a  little,  the  huge  black  things  looked 
so  ugly,  and  so  narrow-minded,  and  so  honest. 

Then  Greg  said  sharply,  as  he  took  a  turn  up  and 
down  the  room  : 

"  I  cannot  see  why  you  went  to  Henley  for  advice." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Mr.  Greg,"  and  Mr.  Henshaw 
drew  himself  up  more  stiffly  in  his  chair,  "  Mr.  Hen- 
ley came  to  me  with  the  advice,  and  came  on  behalf 
of  the  poor  as  represented  by  Daniel  Burk.  Burk  was 
the  first  to  sell  his  shares,  and  said  Mr.  Wilkerson 
knew  that  he  was  selling." 

Jerry  shook  his  head. 

"  I  told  Burk  only  that  I  was  not  afraid  of  the 
stock,"  he  said;  u  that  selling  even  then,  when  I  spoke 
to  him,  the  stock  would  bring  twice  as  much  as  he 
gave  for  it." 

Greg  paused  in  his  walk. 


JERRY.  449 

"That  was  unwise,"  he  said;  "of  course  hearing 
that  they  would  all  want  to  sell." 

"  It  was  that,  or  a  strike  which  would  have  ruined 
us,"  Jerry  answered.  "  As  it  is,  the  crisis  has  come 
gradually,  and  we  will  soon  be  safe." 

Mr.  Henshaw  shook  his  head,  as  he  looked  mourn- 
fully into  the  fire. 

"  If  we  declare  a  dividend  before  a  thaw  comes," 
he  said,  "  we  will  save  ourselves,  but  defraud  others. 
I  know  how  many  people  will  be  induced  to  invest  in 
this  mine  because  of  this  dividend,  and  how  their 
money  will  be  sunk  in  the  restoration  of  the  mine 
after  the  stream  has  flooded  it.  I  know  how  all  who 
hold  shares  now  will  quadruple  the  amount  they  in- 
vested, and  that  many  of  them  will  save  themselves 
entirely  by  selling  out  the  moment  the  dividend  is 
declared  :  I  know  all  this,  and  I  know  it  is  not 
honest — it  is  not  honest !  " 

u  Damnation  !  "  and  Greg  drove  a  log  into  the  fire 
viciously  with  the  heavy  heel  of  his  boot. 

"  It  is  true,  Mr.  Greg,"  Mr.  Henshaw  went  on, 
"  and  every  hour  I  live  I  repent  having  invested  in 
the  mine  ;  if  I  had  not  done  that,  I  could  have  worked 
with  a  clear  conscience,  simply  obeying  orders  ;  as  it 
is,  I  am  so  much  interested  myself,  that  I  am  afraid 
always  of  forgetting  the  cause  of  the  poor,  and  acting 
for  my  own  good  only  :  and  even  if  we  succeed  now 
before  the  freeze  breaks,  I  can  not  bear  to  think  of  the 
poor  who  may  invest,  expecting  immediate  returns ; 
and  Mr.  Henley  says  he  understands  how  I  feel  about 
it,  especially  now  that  I  am  ordered  to  send  a  tele- 
gram that  will  authorize  a  dividend." 

"  Have  you  told  Henley  that?  "  Greg  asked  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  mildly  ;  "  he  was  with  me  when  it  came, 
and  is  such  a  friend  of  your  family." 

Greg  stood  by  the  window  silent ;  silence  was  their 
only  safety  now  ;  and  into  Jerry's  mind  there  came 
the  memory  of  some  words  of  thanks  this  simple, 
honest  gentleman  had  said  to  him  when  he  had  lent 


45°  JERRY. 

him  money  to  invest  in  the  mine  :  "  I  thank  you,  in 
the  name  of  my  wife,  and  of  all  my  little  children,"  he 
had  said  ;  "  you  free  us  from  anxiety  for  the  future." 
He  was  a  simple,  honest  gentleman,  this  engineer ; 
and  Jerry's  face  burned  as  he  thought  "  Too  honest 
for  us." 

Then  Jerry  looked  up  slowly. 

"  How  much  did  you  invest,  Mr.  Henshaw  ? "  he 
asked,  his  voice  falling  quietly  on  the  silence. 

Mr.  Henshaw's  face  grew  more  mournful  still. 

"  Two  thousand  dollars,"  he  answered,  as  if  the 
world  must  tremble  at  the  amount  ;  it  was  so  much  to 
him — indeed,  it  was  all  to  him  ! 

Jerry  looked  into  the  fire. 

"  Will  you  take  six  thousand  for  it  ? "  he  asked, 
"  and  be  free  to  obey  orders  ?  " 

"  Six  thousand  !  "  and  Mr.  Henshaw  took  off  his 
spectacles  to  wipe  them,  and  Greg  turned  from  the 
window  quickly. 

"  Will  you  take  it  ? "  he  said. 

Mr.  Henshaw  looked  helpless. 

"  You  must  remember,"  Jerry  went  on,  "  that  you 
may  be  worth  three  times  as  much  as  I  offer  you,  if 
you  hold  your  shares ;  but  if  you  would  rather  be  out 
of  it,  and  free  of  responsibility,  I  offer  you  six  for  two." 

"  No,  no  !  "  Mr.  Henshaw  faltered,  "  it  is  not  that; 
six  is  too  much  ;  but  I  can  not  bear  to  let  you  risk  so 
much." 

Jerry  laughed. 

"  Five  or  ten  thousand  more  can  make  very  little 
difference  to  me,"  he  said,  "  for  if  I  fail,  I  am  ruined." 

The  words  were  said  so  quietly  that  Mr.  Henshaw 
scarcely  took  them  in,  or  believed  them  :  Paul  had 
impressed  him  so  thoroughly  with  the  idea  of  Jerry's 
wealth,  that  ruin  in  connection  with  him  seemed 
absurd. 

"  We  will  say  six,"  Jerry  went  on,  "  and  you  can 
make  the  transfer  immediately,  and  telegraph  the 
same  to  your  man  of  business,"  putting  a  chair  near 


JERRY.  45 I 

the  table,  and  arranging  all  necessary  materials  for 
Mr.  Henshaw,  "  and  I  will  telegraph  Glendale  to  pay 
cash." 

"  Yes,"  and  Mr.  Henshaw  took  the  seat  prepared 
for  him. 

"  But  write  your  telegram  to  the  Board  first,  Mr. 
Henshaw,"  Greg  interrupted,  "  so  that  I  can  send  it ; 
they  are  anxious." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  and  Mr.  Henshaw  began  to  write,  and 
Jerry  also. 

Greg  walked  up  and  down  the  room  ;  he  could  not 
be  still  ;  the  game  he  had  watched  so  long,  and  from 
which  he  had  held  aloof,  had  drawn  him  into  its  vortex 
at  last,  and  had  become  painful  in  its  excitement.  He 
looked  at  Jerry  in  wonder;  with  all  at  stake — his 
money,  his  reputation,  his  whole  future — he  quietly 
paused  to  help  a  poorer  man  out  of  the  venture  ;  and 
betrayed  by  neither  word  nor  sign  any  feeling  against 
the  enemy  who  was  systematically  planning  his  ruin  ! 
This  crisis  was  an  awful  test  of  a  man's  strength  and 
firmness,  and  yet  Jerry  did  not  falter  :  he  must  suc- 
ceed— failure  would  be  too  cruel  ! 

"  You  take  this  down  at  once,  Greg,"  Jerry  said, 
reading  over  the  despatch  Mr.  Henshaw  had  written 
to  the  board,  "  and  telegraph  your  father  to  send  the 
news  back  instantly  to  the  Banner"  and  Greg  saw 
a  little  shiver  run  over  Jerry  as  he  held  out  the  paper. 

"  I  will,"  he  answered,  and  went  away  quickly  :  his 
pity,  his  impatience,  and  his  admiration  were  too 
great,  he  could  not  bear  to  watch  Jerry  now,  and 
hated  himself  because  that  once  he  had  turned  away 
from  this  man. 

"And  now  for  the  transfer  of  your  shares,  Mr. 
Henshaw,"  and  Jerry  turned  to  the  table  again. 

Presently  it  was  all  done,  and  Mr.  Henshaw  stood 
looking  into  the  fire. 

"  You  have  put  me  under  great  obligations,  Mr. 
Wilkerson,"  he  said  at  last,  "  and  I  can  not  do  any- 
thing that  will  show  you  ever  how  deeply  I  feel  your 


45 2  JERRY. 

action  in  this  matter,  and  how  much  I  appreciate 
your  generosity  ;  "  then  more  slowly,  "  and  I  can  not 
see  what  I  have  done  to  deserve  this  kindness." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it,"  Jerry  answered  quickly  ;  "  it 
is  no  risk  for  me,  and  as  I  persuaded  you  into  the 
speculation,  I  could  not  do  less  than  help  you  out 
when  it  became  obnoxious  to  you." 

"  It  was  not  in  order  to  persuade  me  to  send  the 
telegram  demanded,  for  I  should  have  had  to  do  that 
in  any  case,"  Mr.  Henshaw  went  on  in  a  preoccupied 
way,  as  if  hunting  for  Jerry's  motive,  "  I  can  see  no 
motive  except  to  relieve  my  conscientious  scruples  :  I 
shall  never  forget  it,  sir,"  and  Mr.  Henshaw  wiped 
his  spectacles  again — "  never  forget  it :  will  you  shake 
hands,  Mr.  Wilkerson  ? "  and  he  wrung  Jerry's  hand  ; 
then  putting  on  his  careful  wrappings,  he  went  his 
way,  wondering  why  Jerry's  hands  were  so  cold — cold 
and  clammy  as  death  ! 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  And  wicked  eyes  gleamed  bright  with  hate— and  crowds 
Surged  back  and  forth — and  wild  hands  wavtd — 
And  curses  fled  from  lip  to  lip,  and  up  « 

On  the  mad  wind  to  where  God  waited — silent !  " 

pORTY-EIGHT  hours  had  come  and  gone,  and 
J7^  Burden's  was  in  a  state  of  silent  astonishment. 
For  the  first  time  in  its  life,  the  Banner  was 
cried  up  and  down  the  one  street  of  the  town  :  the 
people  came  to  their  doors  and  windows  as  the  shrill 
boy  voice  broke  the  dead,  frozen  stillness — the  news 
was  told  ! 

"  Dividend  declared — great  fortunes  made — All  the 
world  buying  Burden's  stock — All  who  had  sold,  were 
sold!" 

The  son  of  the  editor  of  the  Banner  who  had 
not  sold,  cried  the  news  with  vicious  delight  ;  abso- 
lutely jeering  at  Ban  Burk  as  he  handed  him  the 
paper — 

"  Mr.  Wilkerson  the  richest  man  in  America  !  "  and 
the  small  tormentor  danced  on  the  frozen  ground  to 
keep  his  feet  warm. 

Greg  heard  it  as  he  dressed,  and  shouted  like  a  boy 
at  Christmas  :  Mr.  Henshaw  heard  it  as  he  waked — 
heard  it  with  a  struggle  between  his  longing  to  have 
quadrupled  his  investment,  and  his  consciousness  that 
there  was  somewhat  in  this  almost  bogus  dividend 
that  would  not  be  authorized  by  one's  duty  to  one's 
neighbor  :  Jerry  heard  it  as  he  sat  at  breakfast,  and 
could  not  speak  nor  move  ;  his  heart  seemed  to  stop 
its  beating,  and  Mrs.  Milton's  voice,  as  she  greeted  the 
newsboy  and  paid  him  for  his  news,  seemed  far  away. 
Everything  grew  red  and  confused  before  his  eyes, 

453 


454  JERRY. 

and  strange  rushing  sounds  came  in  his  ears  as  if  all 
the  blood  in  his  body  had  gone  to  his  head.  He  did 
not  know  if  he  reeled  or  not,  just  for  a  moment,  but 
he  knew  when  Mrs.  Milton  put  the  paper  into  his  hand 
saying  : 

"  Youuns  is  the  riches'  man  in  Ameriky,  Jerry 
Wilkerson  ;  "  then  more  slowly,  "an'  orl  outer  'Lije 
Milton's  mine  thet  killed  him." 

"  It  is  all  pure  luck,  Mrs.  Milton,"  Jerry  answered 
huskily,  and  the  sound  of  his  voice  seemed  to  restore 
his  equilibrium.  Mrs.  Milton  shook  her  head  solemnly. 

"  Thar  aint  no  luck  ner  no  chence  in  thet  mine," 
she  said  ;  "  too  many  sperrets  walks  roun'  in  thar  fur 
luck  or  chence  to  live  thar  :  it's  God  or  the  devil 
a-helpin'  youuns." 

Jerry  rose  from  the  table,  he  could  sit  still  no  longer. 

"Wherever  the  help  comes  from,"  he  said,  "I  am 
very  thankful ;  but  I  do  not  think  it  is  the  devil,  Mrs. 
Milton,  for  Paul  Henley  is  his  own  child." 

"  Now  you're  shoutin',"  the  old  woman  cried  ;  then 
Jerry  walked  away. 

Was  he  safe  ?  he  could  have  cried  aloud  in  his  joy  ; 
he  felt  a  foolish  desire  to  mount  some  high  place  and 
shout  and  shout  until  he  was  breathless  !  All  the 
sickening  anxiety  was  over — his  fortune  was  made — 
his  enemy  vanquished.  Rapidly  he  strode  up  the 
frozen  road  toward  his  office  ;  dismal  and  cold  it 
looked,  but  he  did  not  mind  that — he  had  the  fire  to 
make,  even  if  he  were  in  Mrs.  Milton's  eyes  the  richest 
man  in  America  !  He  laughed  over  the  idea — a  rich, 
ringing  laugh  that  seemed  to  bubble  over  with  joy : 
and  he  took  Joe's  old  ax  from  the  corner  and  went 
out  to  where  the  wood  was  piled. 

Poor  old  Joe  ;  surely  this  fortune  was  his,  surely. 
He  had  dug  it  out  of  the  earth  through  long  years  ; 
had  stored  it  away  day  by  day  for  a  poor  waif  he  had 
picked  up  on  the  roadside  :  and  there  was  no  luck  in 
it,  the  old  woman  had  said,  no  luck  ;  God  or  the 
devil  had  helped  him  ! 


JERRY.  455 

Hard  and  vigorous  his  blows  rang,  and  the  chips 
flew  right  and  left ;  so  he  had  struck  at  life  and 
fortune,  and  so  the  gold  would  lie  about  him  :  and 
when  he  had  enough,  would  be  as  worthless  as  these 
chips.  He  remembered  when  he  had  said  that  at  the 
Gregs'  table  that  Fred  had  laughed ;  would  Fred 
laugh  now  ?  and  Isabel,  did  she  know  of  his  fortune  ? 
and  lovely  Edith  Henley? 

He  gathered  up  his  wood  and  went  in  :  he  must 
have  the  fire  burning  and  his  office  in  order  before 
any  one  came  :  he  must  not  look  upset  in  the  turn 
affairs  had  taken,  nor  surprised,  not  even  to  Greg.* 
And  he  must  make  arrangements  to  put  men  to  work 
on  the  stream  below  the  dam  :  the  mine  must  be  made 
safe,  now  that  he  had  time  to  be.honest. 

Quickly  the  fire  blazed  up  :  then  he  opened  the 
windows,  and  swept  and  put  things  in  order  as  old 
Joe  had  taught  him  to  do  ;  old  Joe  asleep  up  there 
on  the  mountain-side,  while  his  fortune  had  grown 
colossal  ! 

"  Well  !  "  and  Greg  came  in  brisk  and  beaming, 
though  a  little  hesitating  still,  "  I  have  come  to  con- 
gratulate you  ! " 

"  Thank  you,"  and  Jerry  shook  his  hand  heartily, 
"  it  has  been  a  very  near  thing." 

"  Very  near,  thanks  to  that  blundering  Henshaw," 
Greg  answered,  drawing  a  chair  near  the  fire  ;  "  I 
think  Henshaw  must  have  been  evoluted  from  a  black 
beetle,"  laughing,  "  and  if  my  dear  old  Dad  had  not 
been  so  prompt,  he  might  have  ruined  us  :  but  it  is 
safe  enough  now." 

"  Or  at  least  we  have  gained  time  enough  to  make  it 
safe,"  and  with  the  allowing  of  a  doubt  that  he  uttered 
more  to  steady  his  exuberant  joy,  than  because  he 
held  it,  Jerry  felt  a  nameless  fear  creep  over  him. 

"  Why,  man,  it  is  certain  !  "  and  Greg  slapped  his 
leg  emphatically  ;  "  your  fortune  is  made,  even  if  you 
have  to  spend  half  on  this  dividend  ;  and  who  can 
hurt  us  now  ?  " 


45 6  JERRY. 

i 

Jerry  laughed. 

"I  do  not  know,"  he  said,  the  joy  that  he  controlled 
in  word  and  action  ringing  out  in  his  voice,  "  but  I 
am  afraid  to  realize  it  all  at  once,  so  try  to  cool  my- 
self off  with  dismal  possibilities." 

The  door  opened  and  a  boy  came  in. 

"  For  you,  Mr.  Wilkerson,"  and  he  handed  Jerry  a 
telegram. 

Things  seemed  to  waver  before  Jerry's  eyes  as  he 
tore  open  the  envelope  :  was  this  a  dismal  possi- 
bility ? 

"  To  J.  P.  WILKERSON — Burden's  : 
from 

J.  C.  Glendale,  New  York. 

Burden's  up, — aw'ait  orders — three  days  the  limit." 
Jerry  handed  the  message  to  Greg,  then  turned  to 
the  table  and  wrote  : 

"  To  J.  C.  GLENDALE,  No.  —  Wall  Street,  New  York  : 

from 
J.  P.  Wilkerson,  Burden's. 

Wait." 

And  this  was  handed  to  Greg  also.  Greg  read  it 
over. 

"  Wise,"  he  said,  "  try  the  temper  of  the  people  on 
the  work  first  ;  but  why  do  you  sign  your  name  before 
you  send  your  message  ?  " 

Jerry  laughed. 

"  It  is  one  of  Glendale's  fads,"  he  answered.  "  He 
said  that  as  soon  as  he  sees  the  name  of  his  corre- 
spondent, his  mind  throws  itself  in  position  for  the 
message  ;  it  does  seem  more  simple. 

"  Like  Glendale,  the  explanation  is  thin,"  and  Greg 
laughed. 

Then  the  paper  was  put  into  the  boy's  hand,  the 
door  was  shut,  and  the  footsteps  of  the  messenger 
died  away. 

"  Father  will  telegraph  me  some  time  to-day,"  Greg 
went  on,  "  I  will  bring  it  up." 


JERRY.  457 

"  Thank  you," — then  Jerry  paused  in  the  extraordi- 
nary pen-and-ink  sketches  he  was  making  on  his 
blotting-paper  ;  "  I  should  like  to  feel  Henley's  pulse," 
he  said. 

The  color  flashed  into  Greg's  face. 

"  I  should  like  to  punch  his  head  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  the  miserable  sneak  !  a  '  dear  friend  of  my  family,' 
and  all  the  while  trying  to  kill  this  scheme  when  he 
knows  my  father  is  in  it — " 

"  Hush  !  "  and  Jerry  went  to  the  door. 

"  Hardy,  Mr.  Wilkerson  !  "  and  a  body  of  miners 
came  in;  "  we've  come  to  shake  han's,  Mr.  Wilkerson, 
an'  to  hooray  for  Burden's,  you  bet !  "  and  they 
crowded  about  him  enthusiastically. 

"  Come  in,  come  in  !  "  and  Jerry's  voice  trembled 
audibly  ;  "  I  am  glad  to  welcome  those  who  stood  by 
me,  very  glad  !  " 

"  We  brought  up  a  little  beer,"  one  man  went  on 
modestly,  "  to  warm  up  our  money  thet's  a-comin'  !  " 

Greg  laughed. 

"  And  the  money  will  need  warming,"  he  said,  "  for 
a  freeze  brought  it  to  us,"  taking  two  tin  cups  down 
from  a  shelf. 

"  They  say  that  Mr.  Henley's  sick  this  mornin'," 
and  the  men  looked  at  each  other  knowingly  as  the 
big  cup  passed  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Are  you  men  the  only  ones  who  have  held  your 
shares  ?  "  and  Jerry's  voice  seemed  to  settle  the  com- 
pany. 

"  All,"  was  answered. 

"  Ten  men  ! "  and  Jerry  seemed  to  be  counting 
them  over  again  to  assure  himself, 

"  Ten  outside  of  Titcomb  "—the  editor  of  the 
paper, — "  Titcomb  aint  sold  out." 

"  Eleven  men,  ten  working  men,"  Jerry  said. 
"  Well,  you  must  come  and  have  supper  with  me  to- 
night ;  we  must  consult  about  making  the  stream 
safe,"  and  he  spread  a  sheet  of  paper  on  the  table ; 
"  I  want  you  to  give  Mr.  Greg  your  names." 


45 8  JERRY. 

"  All  right,"  and  one  after  another  the  men  gave  in 
their  names. 

"  Come  to  Mrs.  Milton's  this  evening  at  seven," 
Jerry  went  on,  "  and  we  will  drink  a  health  to  our 
fortunes." 

"  We'll  sure  come,  Mr.  Wilkerson,  plum  sure  :  and 
to  the  work  too ; "  then  the  beer  was  finished,  and  the 
men  went  away. 

"  Only  eleven  men,"  Jerry  said,  when  the  little  office 
was  empty  once  more,  "  only  eleven  men  to  stand  by 
us,  Greg." 

"  Enough  to  share  money  with,"  Greg  answered. 

"  Quite,  but  an  awful  minority  when  you  remember 
all  who  went  in  with  us." 

"  Poor  fools!  "  and  Greg  threw  some  more  wood  on 
the  fire,  "  they  are  sold  enough  now." 

"If  only  they  will  continue  'sold',"  Jerry  answered 
slowly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  trust  Henley,"  Jerry  said,  "  he  may  hurt 
us  yet  :  I  am  sure  he  will  try." 

Greg  laughed. 

"  You  are  worn  out,  Wilkerson,"  he  said  in  a  more 
familiar  tone  than  he  had  used  in  a  long  time,  "  Hen- 
ley must  see  that  we  have  won,  and  will  have  sense 
enough  to  give  up  the  fight." 

Jerry  shook  his  head  doubtfully — 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  said. 

Slowly  but  surely  the  crowd  gathered  in  the  lunch 
room  in  Eureka — a  glum,  silent  crowd.  There  was 
no  laughter ;  no  greeting  of  each  other  ;  no  jokes  ;  a 
sullen,  morose  crowd,  but  a  crowd.  And  the  seats 
seemed  to  have  been  prepared  for  them,  and  also  the 
drink  that  was  distributed  free  of  charge. 

All  through  the  cold,  slow-falling  afternoon  men, 
women,  and  children  were  drinking  ;  drinking  as  if 
they  wanted  something  to  do — as  if  they  wanted  the 
excitement — drinking  themselves  mad. 


JERRY.  459 

As  the  night  fell  a  dim  illumination  became  visible: 
"Free  Supper";  a  dim  illumination,  but  an  old 
woman,  hovering  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  read 
it  and  drew  nearer. 

It  meant  something,  this  gathering,  something 
against  Burden's  ;  for  all  the  people  she  could  recog- 
nize were  people  who  had  sold  their  shares  long  ago. 
Then  on  the  frozen  ground  was  heard  the  sound  of 
wheels,  and  through  the  darkness  a  wagon  rolled  down 
the  road  :  nearer  and  nearer,  then  a  stop  in  front  of 
the  illuminated  sign,  and  Paul  Henley,  followed  by 
Dan  Burk  and  Dave  Morris,  entered  the  lighted  shop. 
There  arose  a  little  murmur  from  the  crowd,  a  sound 
that  deepened  as  Paul  raised  his  glass  to  drink  their 
health,  a  sound  like  the  turning  of  the  tide. 

Then  slowly  in  and  out  of  the  crowd  Dan  Burk  and 
Dave  Morris  passed,  talking  first  to  one  and  then  to 
another  :  and  the  woman  out  in  the  darkness  drew 
nearer. 

The  talk  and  hum  of  voices  grew  louder  and  louder, 
until  a  voice  from  the  back  of  the  building  called — 

"  Three  cheers  for  Mr.  Henley,  the  poor  man's 
friend !  "  and  a  disorganized  shout  followed  that 
dragged  along  unevenly  until  Burk  cried  out — 

"  Three  cheers  for  Durden's  Mine  !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  a  howl  arose 
that  swept  over  the  assembly  like  the  cry  of  wild 
beasts  ;  and  a  hubbub  of  voices  followed  where  noth- 
ing was  distinguishable  save  the  anger  that  sounded 
dangerous  :  a  hubbub  of  voices  that  was  not  stilled 
until  Burk  sprang  on  the  counter  calling  out — 

"  Listen  to  me  !  "  and  the  crowd  turned  in  his 
direction — "  I  am  as  mad  as  you  !  "  he  cried,  "  I've 
been  plum  fooled  'cause  I  b'lieved  Jerry  Wilkerson 
was  an  honest  man  !  "  then  he  paused  for  the  applause 
that  came  madly  from  the  half-intoxicated  mob — 
"  He's  lived  in  Durden's  man  an'  boy  ;  all  his  money 
come  outer  Durden's  Mine  ;  I  knows  it  an'  none  bet- 
ter," pausing  again  and  looking  over  the  crowd  that 


460  JERK  Y. 

was  now  intensely  still — "Joe  Gilliarn  was  my  pard- 
ner  ;  an*  nobody  knows  how  Joe  Gilliam  died  ;  an' 
nobody  knows  how  Jerry  Wilkerson  got  so  much 
money  down  East  ;  an'  nobody  knew  thet  Jerry  Wilk- 
erson hed  bought  most  all  Burden's  Mine  ;  an' 
nobody  knew  thet  a  dividend  was  a-comin'  when 
Jerry  Wilkerson  says — says  'ee," — pausing  for  greater 
effect,  "  '  Dan  Burk,'  says  'ee,  'you  kin  git  back  double 
your  money  if  you'll  sell  now,'  says  'ee  ;  an'  Dan 
Burk  trusted  him,  an'  Dan  Burk  was  the  fust  to  sell 
out !  " 

"  Thet's  so — that's  so! "  came  eagerly  from  the 
crowd. 

"  An'  Mr.  Henley  sold  ;  an'  Mr.  Henshaw  sold  ; 
an*  every  one  to  Mr.  Glendale  in  New  York,  for — 
Jerry  Wilkerson  ! "  pausing  while  a  groan  went  up 
from  his  listeners.  "  An*  when  our  children  an'  ole 
folks  were  a-dyin'  from  cold,  Jerry  Wilkerson  cussed 
us  into  fixin'  thet  dam  !  " 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  an  unexpected  silence 
that  caused  Dan  to  pause  for  a  moment  and  look  at 
Paul  with  some  doubt. 

"You  are  weary,"  Paul  said  kindly,  handing  him  a 
glass  of  whisky — "  it  is  hard  work  talking  of  the 
money  you  have  lost." 

Burk  swallowed  the  dram  eagerly,  then  again  turned 
to  his  task. 

"  Fifty  men  stood  in  the  water  a-freezin',  and  a-savin' 
thet  damned  mine,  an'  now  !  "  scornfully — "  'Leven 
men  gits  all  the  money  !  Dan  Burk  fooled  you  all 
inter  sellin',  but  Jerry  Wilkerson  fooled  Dan  Burk  ; 
an'  when  the  freeze  come  thet  would  hold  the  water, 
an'  when  all  the  people  have  sold  out,  Jerry  Wilk- 
erson orders  a  dividend  ;  makes  the  engineer  order  a 
dividend, — orders  it  to  run  up  the  stock  ;  an'  in  two 
days  he'll  sell  out  an'  stand  free  an'  rich  !  yes,  an' 
he'll  laugh  at  us  pore  folks  that  has  been  fooled,  an* 
are  as  pore  as  ever  !  An'  the  water'll  come  over  the 
dam  all  the  same,  an'  all  thet  buys  Jerry  Wilkerson's 


JERRY.  461 

stock'll  be  fooled,  an'  be  ruined  like  we  have  been  ; 
an'  all  because  we  fixed  the  dam  !  "  He  ceased,  and 
came  down  from  the  counter  amid  a  storm  of  applause 
and  angry  oaths  that  were  silenced  by  Dave  Morris, 
who  stood  up  and  asked  that  the  crowd  would  drink 
to  Mr.  Henley.  There  was  an  eager  rush  to- the  bar 
where  Paul  Henley  stood  thanking  the  people  for  their 
good  wishes. 

And  Mrs.  Burk  handed  out  the  liquor ;  strong, 
crude  whisky  that  burned  like  fire — that  crazed  and 
maddened  the  people  into  brute  beasts. 

"  To  the  health  of  the  dam  !  "  Burk  cried  out  at 
last. 

"  Damn  it  !  "  was  answered  by  a  dozen  voices. 

"  I'd  pull  it  down,"  Mrs.  Burk  suggested  to  one 
bloated  creature  whose  cup  she  was  filling ;  and 
voices  all  about  her  took  up  the  words — 

"  Pull  it  down — pull  it  down  !  " 

"One  more  drink,  boys,"  Dave  Morris  called,  "an* 
we'll  be  fit  to  pull  down  hell !  " 

Then  through  the  darkness  a  woman  sped  away — 
an  old  woman  with  white  hair  that,  escaping  from  its 
fastenings,  streamed  out  on  the  wind  ;  and  her  little 
eyes,  set  deep  in  beds  of  yellow  wrinkles,  glowed  like 
fire  as  she  ran  ;  and  her  breath  came  short  and  fast, 
and  curses  with  each  breath  !  On  and  on,  and  yet 
she  seemed  to  go  so  slowly  !  on  and  on  over  the  hard, 
slippery  ground  :  how  often  she  fell  !  how  often  she 
seemed  to  slip  back  !  how  far  Durden's  was  from 
Eureka !  On  and  on,  worn  and  almost  breathless  ; 
panting,  while  in  her  ears  the  wind  sounded  like  the 
howling  of  the  mob  ! 

Were  they  coming  ?  Would  not  she  be  in  time  to 
warn  them  ? 

On  and  on  ;  at  last  lights  gleamed  in  front  of  her  ; 
they  seemed  near,  but  now  every  step  was  up-hill  ! 
Would  she  live  to  reach  those  lights? 

At  last ! 

Almost  she  fell  against  the  door ;  the  weary  old 


462  JERR  Y. 

woman  :  panting  and  breathless, — worn  and  without 
strength  she  stood  before  the  thirteen  men  who  were 
laughing  and  talking  over  their  quiet  supper,  secure 
and  at  peace. 

"  Git  yer  guns  !  "  she  cried  hoarsely, "  an'  go  to  the 
dam  !  " 

Every  man  rose  to  his  feet  and  Jerry  sprang  to  her 
side.  "  Mrs.  Milton,  who  told  you  this  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  I  hearn  'em  a-sayin'  it,"  she  panted  laboriously, 
"over  in  Henley's  eatin'  house,"  drinking  eagerly 
some  brandy  and  water  which  Greg  handed  her — "  I 
knowed  thar  were  mischief  a-cookin'  in  Henley's  free 
supper,  an'  the  whole  crowd  is  wild  alonger  whisky, 
an'  is  agoin'  now  to  pull  down  the  dam  afore  any  of 
youuns  kin  sell  out  ;  git  yer  guns  an'  go  !  "  then  she 
sank  back  exhausted.  "  I  runned  orl  the  way,"  she 
whispered,  seized  with  an  awful  shuddering  that  made 
Jerry  give  quick,  sharp  orders  to  the  servant-girl :  then 
to  the  men — 

"  Get  what  arms  and  ammunition  you  can,"  he  said, 
"  and  meet  me  at  the  dam  as  quickly  as  possible  ;  " 
then  he  added — "  We  are  few,  but  we  are  sober,"  and 
almost  instantly  the  room  was  emptied. 

Terribly  dark — and  the  men  collected  slowly  ;  bit- 
terly cold, — and  no  fire  could  be  made  as  it  would 
betray  them.  Thirteen  men  crouching  on  the  broad 
top  of  the  dam,  which  elevation  gave  them  a  murder- 
ous descending  fire  that  must  destroy  whoever 
approached  :  and  far  below  them — down  the  strag- 
gling village  street,  a  few  lights  shone  where  the 
women  waited  and  listened. 

All  was  silent  save  the  muffled  cry  of  the  stream  as 
it  writhed  under  its  fetters  of  ice — a  level  sheet  of  ice 
from  the  dam  out  to  where  the  broadened  stream 
stopped  against  the  cliffs.  Still  as  death,  with  fingers 
stiffening  about  their  guns,  with  the  breath  freezing 
on  their  lips  and  beards — The  time  passed  slowly — 
had  the  old  woman  made  a  mistake  ? 

Jerry  stood  a  little  apart,  thrilling  with  a  terrible 


JERR  Y.  463 

exultation  ;  this  night  he  would  meet  his  enemy  face 
to  face — an  open,  free  fight  for  fortune — if  his  enemy 
conquered — if  his  enemy  ruined  him  : — he  gripped 
his  gun  tighter — what  an  exquisite  joy  of  revenge — 
the  stream  that  ruined  him  would  ruin  Paul !  And 
ruin — what  did  ruin  mean  ?  freedom — aye,  freedom 
from  the  tension  and  the  misery  of  his  present  life — 
his  life  that  almost  had  crazed  him  !  Almost  ? — he 
drew  himself  together — was  not  he  crazy  now  ? 

A  murmur  arose  among  the  men  ;  and  the  boys 
who  had  come  with  extra  arms  and  ammunition,  were 
sent  home  on  account  of  the  awful  coldness. 

The  lights  were  fewer  in  the  street,  and  the  sullen 
roar  of  the  stream  seemed  to  grow  louder. 

At  last,  far  off,  there  came  a  hum  like  the  hum  of 
swarming  bees,  and  from  the  Eureka  side  a  few  waver- 
ing lights  were  seen.  On  they  came,  and  the  waiting 
men  drew  closer  together  ;  no  sound,  only  far  off  the 
flickering  lights  like  stars  :  suddenly  they  paused, 
then  vanished. 

"  There  are  some  sober  men  in  the  party,"  Jerry 
said,  "  and  we  must  be  most  careful ;  "repulse  them 
once,  and  they  can  not  reassemble."  Calm  enough  his 
voice  sounded,  but  his  heart  seemed  to  beat  in  his 
ears,  and  the  blood  surged  and  tingled  in  his  veins. 

Suddenly  Greg  stood  beside  him  breathless,  and 
caught  his  arm  in  a  hard  grasp. 

"  Whichever  of  us  is  first  freed  from  this  crowd," 
he  whispered,  "  must  send  the  message  for  both,  and 
the  message  must  be  'sell.'" 

The  practical  words  seemed  to  calm  Jerry,  and  a 
wild  regret  came  into  his  mind  that  he  had  not  sent 
the  message — he  uttered  a  low  oath. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  at  the  office,"  Greg  went  on, 
"  trying  to  send  the  message,  but  the  man  was  absent, 
and  I  had  to  come." 

"  If  any  disaster  threatens,  qne  of  us  must  get  there 
to  send  it,"  and  Jerry  cocked  and  uncocked  his.  rifle 
viciously. 


464  JERR  Y. 

"  One  of  us  will,"  Greg  answered,  then  a  silence 
fell  between  them. 

Suppose  he  should  send  a  message  now  to  Paul 
about  the  stream — Paul  would  not  believe  it :  it  could 
not  be  proved  except  by  experiment  ?  And  of  course 
they  could  repulse  a  drunken  mob  ! 

"  They're  jest  a-crawlin'  by  the  town,"  a  man  whis- 
pered to  Jerry. 

"  And  perfectly  silent,"  Greg  said,  looking  keenly 
at  the  black  mass  that  now  could  be  seen  by  the  wan, 
dead  light  of  the  moon  that  had  risen  behind  the  gray 
clouds — "  the  leaders  are  not  drunk." 

"  Mr.  Henley  never  gits  drunk,"  the  man  answered, 
"  nor  Dan  Burk." 

"  That  is  true,"  Jerry  commented,  and  again  he 
cocked  and  uncocked  his  rifle  ;  the  sound  brought 
him  solace  :  it  was  better  so  to  win  success  or  death  ! 

Sixteen  good  cartridges  he  had,  sixteen  chances 
against  failure  :  would  Paul  fight — would  he  fasten 
his  longing  hands  on  him  this  night  ? 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  black  mass  came  ;  they  could 
hear  their  footsteps  ringing  on  the  ice  now,  and  crack- 
ing through  the  frozen  crust  of  the  snow. 

"  Every  man  pick  out  his  man,"  Jerry  whispered, 
"take  careful  aim,  and  when  I  give  the  word,  fire  as 
one  man,"  and  the  order  was  whispered  along  the 
line. 

Of  course  one  volley  would  demoralize  the  mob 
completely.  . 

Nearer,  and  nearer  ;  and  the  thirteen  watchers 
trembled  with  excitement  in  the  tense,  strained  silence 
that  seemed  to  throb  and  roar  in  their  ears  ! 

Nearer  and  nearer :  so  that  the  lowered  voices 
could  be  heard,  and  a  little  smothered  chuckling  ; 
then  Dan  Burk's  voice  a  little  raised  : 

"  Whar's  the  picks  ?"  There  was  a  pause  and  a  little 
clatter  as  of  tools  being  passed  from  hand  to  hand, 
theij  a  voice  said — 

"  Steady  now,  and  move  on  quickly  !  " 


JERRY.  465 

A  shiver  ran  over  Jerry,  an  irresistible  shudder  like 
a  death  struggle — the  voice  was  Paul's  ! 

Nearer,  and  nearer  they  came;  making  a  little  more 
noise  now,  feeling  safe;  nearer,  and  nearer — close 
under  the  dam. 

"  Fire  !  "  one  low  word,  and  a  belt  of  light  sprang 
along  the  dam — a  deafening  report,  and  wild  cries 
and  confusion  ! 

Then  a  voice  rang  clear  and  high — 

"  Make  for  the  dam — there  are  only  thirteen  men 
there  !  " 

And  the  answer  came — 

«*  Fire  !  " 

But  only  four  shots  answered — there  were  only  four 
repeating  rifles  in  the  party  ! 

Fourteen  good  bullets  left  still  ;  and  Jerry  stood 
up  to  his  task. 

"Fire  as  fast  you  can  load  !  "  he  cried,  taking  delib- 
erate aim  as  a  white  face  gleamed  more  prominently 
from  the  black  mass:  every  shot  must  tell. 

More  than  a  hundred  men  were  attacking  them:  a 
dense,  black  mass  of  maddened,  reckless  brutes  that 
the  unexpected  fire  had  not  demoralized:  and  with 
every  thing  in  his  favor  he  could  kill  only  sixteen  ! 
His  pistols  !  Aye,  twelve  more  shots  there  ;  and 
every  shot  must  kill  a  fellow-creature;  every  shot 
must  send  an  unprepared  soul  to  judgment — and  all 
to  save  his  fortune  ! 

The  thought  made  his  hand  waver  for  one  shot ; 
did  it  miss  ? 

The  other  side  were  firing  now;  and  Titcomb,  kneel- 
ing beside  Jerry,  fell  back  on  the  ice,  crashing  through 
with  a  wild  cry  ! 

Again  Jerry  fired,  steadily,  calmly.  He  could  have 
cut  every  throat  in  that  howling  mob,  wild  and  mad 
with  drink. 

Greg  stood  close  beside  him  now. 

"  Four  men  have  been  knocked  over,"  he  said. 

"  Make  every  shot  tell,"  was  Jerry's  answer  in  a 


4^6  JERR  Y. 

voice  that  was  supernaturally  calm,  "  And  if  you  can 
escape,  send  a  telegram." 

"  Yes,"  and  they  fired  simultaneously. 

Wilder  the  confusion  grew;  cries,  mad  curses,  groans 
and  shrieks  from  friends  and  foes;  dying  sighs  going 
up  through  the  wan  dead  light. 

They  were  rushing  up  on  the  dam  now,  and  only 
five  men  left  to  hold  it  ! 

Calmly  Jerry  waited,  his  pistols  in  his  hands:  twelve 
more  men  must  die  before  his  fortune  should  be 
wrenched  from  him — twelve  men,  or  he  must  die. 

Steadily  his  shots  told,  and  Greg,  separated  from 
him  now,  fought  desperately. 

"  Only  three  men  left !  "  he  heard  Paul  cry  out 
above  the  din,  "  and  there  stands  Wilkerson  !  " 

A  howl  went  up  from  the  mob,  and  Jerry  fell  on 
one  knee.  He  was  shot ! 

One  moment  his  senses  seemed  to  leave  him;  one 
wild,  whirling  moment,  then  he  steadied  himself:  he 
could  crawl  away  and  send  a  telegram — he  could  save 
himself  yet ! 

If  Greg  were  dead,  he  did  not  know;  if  he  were 
fighting  yet  and  depending  on  him,  he  did  not  know; 
there  was  but  one  thought  in  his  mind — the  telegram 
that  would  save  him  ! 

He  was  out  in  the  darkness  now  where  the  flash  of 
the  firing  could  not  reveal  him:  out  in  the  darkness 
below  the  dam,  crawling  over  dead  and  wounded;  if 
he  hurt  them,  if  they  groaned  or  pleaded  for  help,  he 
could  not  stop  ;  it  was  a  long  way  and  his  leg  was 
dragging. 

Cold — oh,  God,  how  cold  it  was!  and  these  wounded 
creatures,  some  of  them  crawling  away  too,  clutched 
him  as  he  passed — clutched  his  weary  arms  and 
broken  leg  !  He  cried  aloud  in  agony:  was  that  his 
voice  ?  and  was  it  his  knife  that  he  stuck  deep  in  the 
man's  warm  flesh;  aye,  and  now  he  had  let  him  go. 

How  far — how  slow — how  cold  !  An  hour  ago  he 
could  have  run — could  have  saved  every  dollar. 


JERRY.  467 

A  high,  wild  cry  rent  the  air,  and  sharp,  ringing 
blows  as  of  iron  on  rock. 

They  were  breaking  away  the  dam. 

A  shudder  ran  over  him,  and  for  a  second  he 
stopped:  he  was  in  the  old  bed  of  the  stream  and 
would  be  swept  away.  What  frantic  haste  he  made  ; 
the  rocks  and  the  jagged  ice  tore  his  hands,  and  his 
own  blood  leaked  out  now,  warm  and  trickling  slowly; 
and  the  other  man's  blood  had  frozen  on  him. 

How  hard  they  were  working,  and  all  the  town 
seemed  alive,  with  lights  flashing  here  and  there,  and 
women's  voices  shrieking  and  crying  aloud  ! 

They  were  running  by  him  now,  and  he  turned 
away  from  the  main  road.  And  did  they  not  know 
that  soon  the  stream  would  be  loosed,  and  sweep  them 
away  ?  But  he  would  not  tell  them,  they  might  stop 
him  ;  they  might  hold  him  from  his  task — and  he  had 
killed  their  husbands  and  sons,  let  them  be  swept 
away. 

Ah,  ha  !  There  in  front  of  him  he  could  see  the 
light;  the  man  was  in  the  office  ! 

Another  shout. 

Was  the  dam  giving  way — would  he  be  too  late  ? 
He  listened:  there  was  no  rush  of  water  yet,  only  the 
foolish  cries  of  the  women,  who  had  nothing  to  lose 
now. 

Another  shout;  a  long,  wild  shout,  then  a  roar  as  if 
the  floods  of  heaven  were  let  loose  ! 

For  one  instant  he  lay  on  his  face,  powerless. 

Nearer,  and  nearer  the  rushing  came,  and  wild,  fly- 
ing feet:  the  women  were  running.  He  started  up; 
maybe  Paul  would  remember  to  send  a  telegram  before 
he  could  reach  the  office  ! 

How  long  the  way  was;  only  now  his  leg  seemed 
dead— perhaps  it  was  dead.  On  he  crawled,  every 
moment  nearer  to  his  goal  ;  if  only  the  mad  crowd 
flying  from  the  stream  would  not  run  over  him. 

'  How  the  water  rushed  :  was  it  in  the  mine  yet — was 
it  pouring  down  that  black  abyss,  kissing  the  rocks  it 


468  JERR  Y. 

had  known  so  long  ago, — sweeping  away  the  crumbled 
white  bones  of  the  man  who  had  turned  its  course  ? 
How  it  would  laugh,  and  sing,  and  clap  its  hands 
down  there  in  its  old  haunts  !  Ah,  ha  !  and  flow  out 
in  Eureka — ha,  ha  !  No  one  knew  that  secret  but  he  ! 

Nearer,  and  nearer  ;  only  the  road  between  him 
and  the  open  door  of  the  office  from  which  the  yellow 
lamp-light  shone,  and  the  operator  silhouetted  black 
in  the  square  door-way. 

Only  the  street  to  cross. 

Was  that  noise  the  people  coming  back — that  wild 
shouting  and  firing  :  the  mad,  drunken  mob,  and  the 
people  afraid  of  them  ?  And  up  and  down  the  street 
the  quick  closing  of  windows  and  doors.  Would  the 
operator  close  the  door  on  him. 

Great  God,  he  was  moving  back  ! 

One  last  supreme  effort — his  hand  was  on  the  sill  ; 
the  door  must  crush  his  fingers  if  it  closed  ! 

His  face  blanched  to  a  ghastly  white  ;  his  eyes, 
strained  and  burning,  fixed  the  man  with  astonish- 
ment ; — a  stranger  in  Burden's,  he  yet  knew  this 
specter  to  be  Jerry  Wilkerson  ! 

"A  thousand  dollars  if  you  send  a  message  !  "  and 
the  wounded  man  dragged  himself  half  in  the  door- 
way— "  A  thousand  dollars  !  " 

"  All  right,"  and  the  operator  stepped  to  the  instru- 
ment. 

"  And  no  other  message  to-night." 

"  All  right." 

"  To  J.  C.  Glendale — "  panting  heavily. 

"  J.  C.  Glendale,"  the  man  repeated,  while  the  in- 
strument clicked  busily. 

"  Number  — ." 

"  Number  — ." 

"  Wall  street." 

"  Wall  street — "  steadily,  although  the  shouts  and 
shots  of  the  crazy  mob  were  very  near. 

"  New  York." 

"  New  York" —  the  man  repeated  it  after  a  second's 


JERR  Y.  469 

pause,  for  the  shouts  rang  all  about  them,  and  the 
wild  shots  were  hitting  the  house  ! 

Jerry's  words  seemed  to  come  so  slowly, — his  breath 
seemed  thick. 

"  From  J.  P.  Wilkerson,  Burden's  " — he  gasped. 

"  J.  P.  Wilkerson,  Burden's  " — the  man  said. 

"  Sell !  "  Jerry  shrieked — 

The  instrument  stopped — there  was  one  shrill  cry, 
and  the  operator  fell  dead  across  the  wounded  man. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

"  The  string  o'erstretched  breaks,  and  the  music  flies." 

T  T  E  aint  no  better,  an'  kent  never  get  no  better," 

I  Mrs.  Milton  said  in  a  voice  that  was  harsh  and 

bitter  with  anger  and  grief,  and  she   looked 

suspiciously  at  Greg,  who,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling  and 

his  head  bandaged,  looked  almost  as  worn  and  thin 

as  Jerry  lying  on  the  bed  between  them. 

Jerry  lying  still  and  helpless,  with  drawn  white  face 
and  vacant  eyes — vacant  eyes  that  made  Greg  remem- 
ber his  father's  warning. 

"  He's  allersa-countin'  them  chips,"  Mrs.  Milton  went 
on,  pointing  to  a  pile  of  dry  chips  that  lay  under  the 
sick  man's  hand,  "or  he's  a-talkin'  to  this  little  passel," 
drawing  from  under  Jerry's  pillow  a  small  package 
wrapped  in  old  newspaper. 

The  sick  man  held  out  his  hands,  so  white  and 
tremulous,  while  a  wistful  look  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  It's  Mammy's,"  he  said,  "  Mammy's." 

Greg  looked  up  in  surprise  ;  Mrs.  Milton  shook  her 
head,  catching  a  sob  in  her  throat. 

"  He's  been  atalkin'  thet  away  ever  sence  he  were 
brunged  har,"  she  said  ;  "  he's  done  gone  backer  orl 
his'n  larnin',  an'  orl  his'n  trouble,  to  his'n  mammy," 
and  she  gave  Jerry  the  little  bundle. 

"  It  aint  wuth  nothin',"  he  said,  looking  up  at  Greg 
wistfully,  "  it's  nothin'  as'll  do  youuns  no  good — it's 
Mammy's — Mammy's,"  his  voice  falling  fainter. 

Greg  turned  away — was  it  only  that  he  was  weakened 
by  wounds  and  the  awful  loss  and  ruin  that  he  had  en- 
dured, that  he  leaned  against  the  mantel-piece  sobbing 
so  pitifully  ? 

470 


JERR  Y.  47 1 

"  The  new  doctor  says  thet  he  kent  las'  out  the 
night,"  Mrs.  Milton  went  on,  "  an'  thar  aint  nary  soul 
to  pray  alonger  him  ceppen  you,  Mr.  Greg." 

Greg  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can  not,"  he  whispered  huskily,  "  I  do  not  know 
how." 

A  tired  sigh  came  from  the  sick  man,  causing  both 
watchers  to  turn. 

"  I  can  not  count  them,"  he  said  wearily,  in  the 
voice  and  language  that  Greg  was  accustomed  to  hear 
from  his  lips,  "  but  what  is  the  use,"  he  went  on,  "  of 
counting  gold  that  is  as  common  as  chips  ;  as  chips 
that  I  can  throw  into  the  water.  Ah,  the  water  !  how 
it  boils  and  surges — how  it  laughs  and  sings  as  it 
goes  back  to  its  old  home — and  it  will  flash  into  the 
sunlight  again  at  Eureka — Eureka  !  " 

Mrs.  Milton  went  hastily  to  the  bedside. 

"  He'll  git  wild  in  a  minute,"  she  said,  "  an  thet'll 
kill  'im,"  and  again  she  drew  the  poor  little  bundle 
from  under  the  pillow  where  he  had  hidden  it.  "  This 
aller  makes  him  quiet." 

"  It's  Mammy's,"  and  again  the  weak  hand  clasped 
the  bundle,  "  an'  mebbe  Dad'll  forgit  them  rails, 
mebbe  he'll  furgit,"  the  voice  sinking  gradually,  then 
the  tired  eyes  closed  and  he  seemed  asleep. 

Greg  came  back  to  the  bedside  now,  and  the  young 
physician  from  the  railway  camp  joined  him  there: 
he  seemed  excited. 

"  They  have  caught  Henley,"  he  whispered,  "  but 
the  people  must  not  know  it, — they  would  kill  him." 

Greg's  eyes  flashed,  and  he  drew  a  sharp  breath 
between  his  clenched  teeth.  Then  aloud  the  physi- 
cian said  : 

"  Wilkerson  can  not  possibly  live,"  and  his  hand 
was  on  the  fluttering  pulse,  "and  it  is  most  fortunate; 
for  his  fortune  is  gone,  and  his  debts  are  enormous, 
and  he  could  never  recover  his  mind  ;  it  is  most  for- 
tunate." 

(<  Git  away  !  "  and  Mrs.  Milton  pushed  the  aston- 


47 2  JERRY. 

ished  stranger  aside  roughly — "  if  Jerry  Wilkerson 
wuz  as  big  a  fool  as  youuns,"  she  said,  "  Mandy  Mil- 
ton'd  be  proud  to  tuck  keer  of  him  fur  ever — jest  you 
'member  thet ;  an'  pay  orl  he  owes,  an'  glad  to  do  it 
too — an'  Mr.  Greg  knows  it." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  and  the  young  man  stepped  back, 
"I  meant  no  harm." 

"  Mebbe  not,"  sharply,  raising  Jerry's  head  on  her 
shoulder  that  the  labored  breathing  might  be  a  little 
easier — "an'  if  you  kent  do  nothin'  fur  him  ceppen 
to  be  thankful  he'sa-dyin',  jest  go  'long  ;  me  an'  Mr. 
Greg  kin  'ten'  to  him." 

The  doctor  took  up  his  hat,  when  suddenly  a  hand 
clutched  his  shoulder,  and  the  old  woman  drew  him 
to  her,  looking  in  his  face  with  burning  eyes. 

"  Kin  youuns  pray  ? "  she  whispered  hoarsely. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  the  hold  on  his  shoulder 
relaxed. 

"  Notter  soul  to  pray  fur  him,"  she  muttered, 
smoothing  back  from  the  sick  man's  brow  the  hair 
that  had  grown  so  white — "  notter  soul — but  God'll 
know  !  " 

The  sick  man's  eyes  opened. 

"  Mammy's  gone  to  God,"  he  whispered,  "  the 
doctor  tole  me  thet." 

"  Yes,  honey,"  the  old  woman  answered,  soothing 
him  as  gently  as  a  mother  would  her  little  child  ;  then 
all  was  still  save  the  fire  that  whispered  and  sighed. 

The  doctor  lingered  near  the  door  ;  Greg  leaned 
against  the  mantel-piece  with  his  hand  over  his  eyes  ; 
the  old  woman  stood  as  if  cut  in  stone,  holding  in  her 
arms  the  dying  man  :  the  clock  told  off  relentlessly 
the  flying  moments,  and  the  solemn  hours  gathered  full 
and  fell. 

Slower  and  slower  the  breath  came  ;  the  heart 
struggled  in  its  beating  ;  the  poor  hands  held  close 
with  pitiful  faithfulness  the  little  bundle  wrapped  up 
so  long  ago. 

He  could  not  last  much  longer. 


JERRY.  473 

The  doctor  held  the  failing  pulse  ;  Greg  drew  a  lit- 
tle nearer  ;  Mrs.  Milton  bent  a  little  under  the  grow- 
ing weight  in  her  arms. 

Slower  and  slower  the  pulse-beats  came  ;  the  eye- 
lids quivered — there  was  a  little  sigh,  and  the  tired 
eyes  looked  up — wistful,  pleading,  pitiful  ! 

"  I  never  knowed,  Mammy,  1  never  knowed,"  he 
said,  and  the  journey  begun  so  long  ago  among  the 
Southern  hills  was  ended. 


THE   END. 


WOMAN'S   WORK   IN    AMERICA. 

Edited  by  ANNIE  NATHAN  MEYER.     Introduction  by  JULIA  WARD 
HOWE.     lamo.     $1.50. 

Contents  :  Woman  in  Education,  (a)  In  the  East,  Mary  F.  East- 
man. (*)  In  the  West,  May  Wright  Sewall.  (c)  In  the  South,  Chris- 
tine Ladd  Franklin. — In  Literature,  Helen  Gray  Cone. — In  Journalism, 
Susan  E.  Dickinson. — In  Medicine,  Dr.  Mary  Putnam  Jacobi. — In  Minis- 
try, Rev.  Ada  C.  Bowles. — In  the  State,  Mary  A.  Livermore. — In  Law, 
Ada  M.  Bittenbender. — In  Industry,  Alice  Hyneman  Rhine. — In  Phil- 
anthropy, (a)  Care  of  Poor,  Josephine  Shaw  Lowell.  (3)  Care  of  Sick, 
Edna  L).  Cheney,  (c)  Care  of  Criminals,  Susan  Barney,  (d)  Care  of 
Indians,  A.  B.  Quinton.  (e)  Work  of  the  W.  C.  T.  U.,  Frances  Wil- 
lard.  (/)  Work  of  the  Red  Cross,  Clara  Barton,  (g)  Anti-Slavery 
Movement,  Lilie  B.  Chace  Wyman. 

Bishop  Potter  says  :  "  Very  valuable  and  interesting.  .  .  .  An  inspiring 
evidence  of  woman's  emancipation  from  stupid  and  unjust  restrictions  and  of 
the  noble  service  to  her  kind  which  she  is  so  richly  gifted  to  render." 

Harper's  Weekly:  "A  very  valuable  chapter  in  American  History  not 
elsewhere  to  be  found.  .  .  .  It  is  at  once  very  interesting  and  very  instructive." 

The  Christian  Union  :  "  The  story  of  such  a  movement,  the  aspiration 
and  inspiration  that  are  embodied  in  it,  cannot  fail  to  be  a  stimulus  to  all 
women.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Meyer  has  done  an  excellent  work." 

CHAMPLIN'S  YOUNG  FOLKS'  CYCLO- 
PAEDIA. 

VOL.  III.     GAMES  AND  SPORTS. 

By  JOHN  D.  CHAMPLIN,  JR.,  and  ARTHUR  E.  BOSTWICK.    8vo,  830 

pp.     Fully  Illustrated.     $2.50. 

A  compendium  of  indoor  and  outdoor  games,  athletic  sports,  sim- 
ple chemical  and  mechanical  amusements. 

The  Nation  :  "If  happiness  depends  upon  games — and  they  have  doubtless 
something  to  do  with  it — the  young  people  of  the  present  day  ought  to  be  hap- 
pier than  any  of  their  predecessors  ;  for  in  '  The  Young  Folks'  Cyclopaedia  of 
Games  and  Sports '  they  can  learn  something  about  every  game  known  to 
civilized  life,  and  certainly  no  such  collection  has  ever  appeared  before." 

Congregationalist  :       The  most  satisfactory  of  which  we  are  aware." 

The  Independent  :  "  Should  form  a  part  of  every  juvenile  library,  whether 
public  or  private." 

Boston  Transcript :  "  Should  find  a  welcome  in  every  household  where 
there  are  growing  children.  .  .  .  We  most  heartily  commend  it." 

N.  Y.  Tribune  :  "  A  mine  of  joy.  ...  A  positive  treasure  to  the  game- 
loving  boy  and  girl." 

GREEK   LITERATURE. 

By  THOMAS  SERGEANT  PERRY,  Author  of  "  English  Literature  in  the 
Eighteenth  Century,"  etc.    8vo,  877  pp.     Illustrated.     Price,  $7.50. 

The  JV.  y.  Tribune:  "  Careful,  sufficiently  full,  and  commendably  clear, 
Mr.  Perry  has  adopted  the  method  of  illustrating  his  text  by  copious  cita- 
tions from  the  Greek  authors— in  translations,  of  course.  For  the  purpose  of 
the  general  reader  it  would  not  be  easy  to  find  a  better  or  more  trustworthy 
guide  and  assistant  than  Mr.  Perry.  He  writes_of  Greek  literature  interest- 
ingly— is  never  dry  or  pedantic.  Pleases  us  by  his  sanity  of  judgment  and  his 
perfectly  dispassionate  analysis.  His  readers  will  have  before  them  the  freshest 
and  broadest  intelligence  upon  these  questions." 

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ON  THE  HEIGHTS.    Translated  by  S.  A.  Stern.     2  vols. 

THE  VILLA  ON  THE  RHINE.     2  vols. 
BEERS,  PROF.  HENRY  A. 

A  CENTURY  OF  AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 
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